Cornered
by BrianaBree
Summary: "She stares at the woman laying lifeless before her, waiting for the guilt to settle in. She isn't surprised when it doesn't." Starts from the 8th episode of the final season and continues on from there. Rated M for language and all that other good stuff :) Deb/Dexter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, I'm finally back with something new! I don't really know what to say about this without giving anything away, but I've wanted to explore something like this for a while, so I hope you all enjoy it. **

**Originally I just planned on this being a oneshot, but I'm kind of frustrated with how I ended it so if anyone is interested I can definitely continue (though hopefully this won't get as long as my first one lol)**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! xo**

* * *

"The only way I'm leaving is if you shoot me and we both know you're not going to do that."

"You wanna fucking bet?" Deb challenges, her jaw starting to tighten as she raises her gun.

"Yes, Debra. Yes I do." The slender blonde replies, her voice oozing its usual derisive sweetness. "We've had our share of differences, you and I. But I know that you're a good person, deep, _deep_ down. Gunning down an unarmed woman in cold blood? What would your brother think?"

Deb shuts her eyes and is immediately flooded with images of fireworks and drunken comradery, of her gun aimed point blank at the unarmed woman crouched only a few feet away from her. She hears her cries, her final words. The words that Debra hasn't been able to shake since the night that she sacrificed one life so that she could save another.

But was that life really worth saving after all? She hates that she's been asking herself that question every night for months. She hates that she often fantasizes what would have happened if only she'd changed the trajectory of that bullet.

"Maybe I don't give a shit what my brother thinks." Deb says through gritted teeth.

"Well that's obviously not true." Hannah replies. "You love him. Maybe even as much as I do."

She wants to scream, to tell that bitch that she doesn't have even the slightest idea of what it _really_ means to love Dexter Morgan. It's hard work and sacrifice and agonizing as all hell, and Hannah McKay doesn't know a thing about it.

But there's no way in hell that Deb is about to let her brother's poisonous ex-girlfriend think that she's even the slightest bit jealous. Jealous – of _her_? No, that's fucking ridiculous.

"Th-that's enough." Deb stutters. "Get down on the ground and put your hands up. I'm not kidding. Do it, or leave me with no other choice."

"How does it feel, knowing that your brother is still in love with me?" Hannah pesters on. "Knowing that he never gave up on me? That he'll always choose me? I can only hope that you'll find your own Dexter someday. Maybe then you'll finally be able to leave mine alone for more than twenty seconds."

"That's real fuckin' sweet of you, McKay. But I've already got my own Dexter, and that selfish piece of shit is more than enough for me at the moment. I sure as hell don't need another one." Deb replies.

Hannah stands there in silence, a ghost of a smile appearing across her soft features. She crosses her arms over her chest, and it's clear that the woman has no intention of backing down.

Jesus Christ, she must really love Dexter if she's willing to get taken into custody as she waits for him. Too bad Deb doesn't give a shit.

"You're fucking delusional." Deb states. "He turned you in. You went to _prison_ because of him. Why the hell would you come back to a man that would turn on you like that? You keep spewing that true love bullshit, but if the so-called love of my life was responsible for me being put away, I don't think I could be so sympathetic."

"Forgiveness is very important in a loving relationship." Hannah says, smirking mischievously. "You know, Debra, I think you relate to me much more than you let on. You're asking me why I choose to stay with Dexter, but I could very well be asking the same of you. One minute you act like you despise him, and the next minute the two of you are joined at the hip. Why is that?"

"This isn't about me." Deb insists. "Whatever little mind game you're playing, I'm not falling for it. So stop trying to fuck with my head."

"I'm not playing any mind games, _Lieutenant_. I'm just asking a genuine question. One that you still haven't answered, might I add?" Hannah presses.

Deb places both hands tightly on the gun, hoping that somehow she'll scare the woman into submission. Maybe she can shoot her in the arm, let her know that she isn't fucking around this time…?

"Your borderline obsessive devotion to your brother will always prevent you from pulling that trigger, sweetie." Hannah says, as if she can read her fucking mind. "You know that if you do, Dexter could never forgive you. His pure, innocent baby sister murdering the love of his life? It would be the ultimate betrayal in his eyes. He'd never speak to you again, and as stubborn as he is when it comes to you, eventually he'd realize that he has to kill you. But go ahead. Shoot me. _I dare you_."

Deb won't ever admit it out loud, but she knows that the bitch is right.

She drops one hand to wipe her sweaty palm on the side of her jeans, leaving the other on the gun still shakily pointed at Hannah McKay.

She hears a low, mocking laugh erupt from the other woman and the pressure starts to build behind her eyelids until she is convinced that she's seeing red.

She tells herself that she can't do it, that she _won't _do it, that she isn't a murderer. But that isn't true anymore, is it? It hasn't been true for a while now.

But she can't do it. Not again.

She almost lost herself on New Year's, and she's only just getting back to a fraction of the person that she used to be.

Even if this particular murder would be justifiable in the eyes of many, she can't do it. She isn't some wannabe vigilante.

She isn't _him._

"Don't cry, Debra." Hannah coos. "It's alright. It will all be over soon."

She hasn't even realized that she's started tearing up, too preoccupied with the sheer rage that threatens to consume her.

"Soon, you'll never have to see me again. If things go the way they're supposed to, you'll never see Dexter again, either. We'll be out of your lives forever. I know that's what you've been wanting for a while now." Hannah mocks. "It's for the best, really. Dexter will finally get a shot at being truly happy, and Harrison can grow up with an actual mother figure in his life. You understand how important that is for him, don't you Deb?"

"Keep my nephew's name out of your mouth." Deb orders, both hands held firmly on the gun as she aims it at the woman's head. "Now, only because I'm a nice fucking person, I'll give you one last chance to do as I fucking say."

"That's cute, Debra. The old menacing cop routine. Well, it was worth a shot I guess. But your nephew is coming with me. Your brother is, too. And then you'll know what it feels like to really be alone." Hannah taunts. "It's going to eat you up inside."

She doesn't want to let the irritating blonde's words get to her, after all, she's heard worse; but the satisfied smile tugging at the corners of her lips is what finally puts Debra over the edge.

Without so much as a second though, she pulls the trigger, firing once. The bullet lodges dead center in the other woman's skull, her body falling down to the carpet and leaving behind a glistening portrait of crimson spatter along the blue toned wall.

Deb sinks to her knees, carefully laying the gun down on the floor beside her. She turns to Hannah McKay, and the fact that her eyes are still open wide and fixed on her own in a challenging glare is nothing short of eerie.

She stares at the woman laying lifeless before her, waiting for the guilt to settle in. She isn't surprised when it doesn't.

How could it be? Hannah fucking McKay, the source of so many of her problems, is dead. _Gone_. By Deb's own hand. She tries to feel bad about it, but she doesn't even consider lying to herself for a second. She's done that for far too long now.

The sound of a key turning in the door startles her. She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there, just _staring_.

When the door swings open, she isn't sure why she doesn't turn around to see who's there.

Maybe it's because she already knows.

She hears a low gasp, followed by a "Deb, what are you doing here?"

The lack of surprise in his voice tells her that he hasn't taken in the entire scene – _yet_.

Deb turns to face him, using her body to temporarily obscure his view of the pale corpse hunched in the corner behind her. She doesn't know why she even bothers, though. This is one problem she can't hide from.

"Dex," She starts, unable bring herself to say much of anything else. "I…"

"Hannah?" He questions, his eyes darting back and forth around the room. "What happened, Deb? Where's Hannah?"

Deb crosses her arms self-consciously over her chest, unsure of the proper etiquette involved when it comes to explaining to your foster brother that you just shot his ex-girlfriend in the head.

"Deb, what did you do!?" Dexter shouts.

His hazel eyes tear into hers, searching for the answers that she knows he already has and is just too scared to admit.

He knows exactly what the fuck she's done, there's no point in making this any worse than it has to be.

Silently she gets up and stands directly in front of him, taking a few deep breaths as she prepares to face him head on.

Deb lightly kicks the gun across the floor so that it lands at his feet, stepping an inch or two to the side so he can finally see the gruesome scene for himself.

"Deb…" He whimpers. "No, you didn't_. No. _You – How could you?"

Suddenly, some kid comes barging in.

He looks like he's fresh out of his teens. Deb has never known her brother to be the type to spend his free time hanging around bratty looking twenty-somethings, but judging by the boy's lack of any reaction that isn't amusement at the dead body sitting only a few feet away from him, she's sure that the two of them get along just fine.

The fascinated look in the boy's eyes makes Deb's skin crawl, because it's all too familiar to her. That look takes her back to the long nights that she'd spent in Dexter's room as a kid. The long nights that she'd spent watching with childlike curiosity as her brother perused the anatomy and physiology books that he'd checked out of the local library two or three times over.

Of course, she'd had no way of knowing what that glimmer in his eyes meant. If only she had, though, then maybe things could have been different...

"Who the fuck are you?" She asks the kid, thinking that she'd rather talk to him than stand in uncomfortable silence as she waits for Dexter to do whatever it is he plans to do to her.

"Who the fuck are _you_?" He replies.

He eyes her with an odd look that she can't quite define. Admiration, maybe?

"Did you do this?" He continues.

"Leave her alone, Zach." Dexter chimes in shakily. "I think it'll be best for everyone if you be quiet and head back to the car."

"How can I be quiet _and_ get back in the car? I'm going to have to make _some_ noise, you know." Zach replies with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Is this your other girlfriend or something? You've got chicks fighting over you man, you're like a rock star!"

"I said SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GET BACK IN THE FUCKING CAR!" Dexter snaps, turning to the boy with violence in his eyes. "Could you not be a complete fucking idiot for one minute, please? Is that possible?"

Zach looks as if he's about to open his mouth to say something else, but when Dexter walks over to him, gripping him up by his shirt collar and harshly whispering something in his ear, he quickly does an about face and hurries out of the door.

For a second Deb wonders what Dexter could have possibly said to the kid to make him high tail it out of the room as if his entire fucking life depended on it, but she just as quickly decides that she doesn't want to know.

Dexter bends over to pick up the gun off of the floor and shoves it in his back pocket. He stares at Hannah's lifeless form for a while, and his silence is what starts to scare her more than anything.

She feels sick knowing that her brother's lack of a reaction scares her even more than the fact that she still can't bring herself to feel guilty about actually pulling the trigger.

But her hands are already stained red with the blood of an innocent woman who didn't deserve what happened to her. Quite frankly, Deb doesn't have any space left within her to feel sorry for a toxic gardener whose idea of a fun way to pass the time was poisoning people and leaving them on the side of the fucking road.

"There is high velocity spatter on the wall, consistent with one gunshot to the head. It was a clean shot, and it looks like she was killed instantly. She didn't suffer." Dexter says, breaking down the facts in the same monotone voice that she'd grown accustomed to hearing him use at any run of the mill crime scene.

That worries her.

"Dexter, stop it." Deb whimpers, hesitantly inching closer to where her brother stands.

He doesn't seem affected by her closeness, so she chances placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Dexter aggressively shrugs Deb off, causing her to lose her footing and stumble backwards. He reaches out for her before she has the chance to fall on her ass, yanking her upright.

He grabs onto her wrists with practically bruising force and walks her backwards until she's pressed up against the wall.

He comes close, uncomfortably close, until Deb feels a new sort of tension in the air that she isn't so sure she's imagining.

His eyes are deeper now, darker than their usual warm shade of hazel, but she doesn't cower away from him. She may turn out to be royally fucking mistaken, but she doesn't think she has to. Dexter won't hurt her.

"What happened?" He asks through gritted teeth.

"I don't think that matters now, does it?" Deb responds, flinching when he releases one of her wrists to slam his palm up against the wall.

"Of course it fucking _matters_," He hisses. "You killed someone, Deb. _Again_. And not just any someone. _Hannah_."

"I know who the fuck she is..._was_" Deb retorts, dropping her gaze down to the floor so she won't have to see the hurt in Dexter's eyes.

The hurt that _she_ is responsible for.

She wants to feel bad, and truly, a part of her does, but mostly she's just…angry. At _him_, at herself, at Hannah.

Was there ever any other way that this could have ended? It has always been either her or Hannah, and Deb made what she thought was the right choice. The choice that she thought Dexter would make. Maybe she was wrong.

"So you followed us here, is that it?" Dexter asks. "You came here, waited until Hannah was alone and unable to protect herself, and you ambushed her?"

"You really think that I would do something like that, Dexter? Do you even know me at all?" Deb fires back, an uncomfortable heat spreading across her body. "I'm not a fucking assassin. She left me with no other choice. I had to."

"I don't believe that." He hesitantly replies.

"Well good for you, but I don't care. Get the fuck out of my way." She says, trying to snatch her arm out of his grip.

Deb reaches out her free arm to try and shove Dexter away, but he grabs onto it and spins her around, bending the arm behind her back. He presses her up against him in an awkward position, restricting her from moving even slightly.

"Tell me everything that happened, Deb. Step by step, word for word." He orders.

She ignores him, not in the mood for an interrogation. She squirms in his arms, but his hold on her is too tight, leaving them both at a standstill.

He finally lets go of one of her arms and reaches down for something.

She isn't surprised when she feels the cool needle pressed against her flesh.

* * *

They say that before you die you see a white light, or loved ones that you've lost along the way, or some other profound shit.

Well, Deb doesn't see any of that.

No, all she sees is her brother, decked out in that ridiculous plastic apron and green Henley, glaring down at her. How fitting, really.

She fidgets a bit from side to side, not at all shocked when she realizes that she's bound tight with Dexter's signature plastic wrap.

Her mouth is free of duct tape, though, and she figures that that's a good sign. Well, she hopes it is, anyway.

Dexter refuses to take his eyes off of her, and it's starting to make her feel uncomfortable. She breaks their stare with a groan, her eyes darting across the room so she can finally take in her surroundings.

They're in the middle of her dining room. Well, her dining room covered in sheets of plastic wrap. She doesn't know how he managed to drag around an unconscious woman without any random people noticing, but she's stopped questioning how he does the things that he does long ago.

She looks to her left and sees two photos pinned to one of the plastic covered walls. One of the pictures is of Hannah McKay, the other of Maria LaGuerta. In the second picture, LaGuerta is decked out in her captain's uniform, beaming from ear to ear. It's a stark contrast from the scowl she wore on New Year's as Deb aimed her gun at her head.

She feels her skin grow sticky beneath its bindings as she tries to shake off the images of her former boss' final moments. But those images are quickly replaced with others. Others that she thinks are just as bad.

She sees him – Rudy, _Brian_, whoever the fuck he is – choking her, tying her up…looking down at her with that evil glint in his eye, the one that Dexter is watching her with right now.

It's kind of ironic that he was the one to save her then, because he's the one she needs protection from now.

"Talk." He says, his deep voice cutting through the silence like the metallic knife he holds in one gloved hand.

"Y-you didn't have to strip me, you know." Deb uneasily replies. "I could have gotten the message just the same with my clothes on."

"Dammit, Debra!" He shouts, slamming his free hand down on the table she lays on. "Don't fuck around with me, this is serious."

"Oh, is it serious?" She sarcastically asks. "Silly me, I thought you drugged me and dragged me here so we could catch up on some much needed brother-sister bonding time."

He tightens his fist around the knife, and for a second Deb thinks he may very well stab her right then and there, if only to get her to stop with her dumb ass attempt at stalling.

She still can't say that she's scared of him, though. The only time she has ever truly feared her brother was when she set foot in that church, and her reaction to that was more shock than anything.

But that glint in his eye? That darkness? It reminds her too much of Brian. She doesn't like it.

"You gonna fucking kill me? Well hurry up and get it over with, then." She says, trying her hardest to keep the hurt in her voice buried deep below the surface.

He looks upset, as if he even has that fucking right. Personally, Deb thinks that should be reserved for the person strapped naked to a kitchen counter.

Still, despite their current…predicament…she's not so sure that if she weren't tied down, she could even fight the urge to hold him. To comfort him. She would punch him square in the jaw afterwards, though. Of course.

But she can't do any of that now, so instead she matches his glare like only she can, daring him to make his next move.

She almost wishes that he _would_ kill her. Surely it would be better than the waiting.

"I don't want to kill you, Deb." He says, his voice cracking as a few tears well up in his eyes.

"Mmm, so all of this is just for kicks then?" She snorts, using her eyes to gesture towards the mounds of plastic wrap he so dutifully canopied throughout her entire house.

"I needed to talk to you, and you're too stubborn to do it without any…assistance." Dexter replies.

"Assistance!? Dexter –"

"You hurt me, Deb!" He interrupts, his volume catching her off guard and actually managing to send a few shivers down her spine.

"I hurt you? _I hurt you_!?" She snaps. "And how many times have you hurt me? Rita? Lundy? LaGuerta? Are those names ringing any bells in your fucking reptile brain?"

"Don't you dare throw Rita's death in my face," He hisses, inching closer to Deb with an accusatory finger pointed in her face. "I didn't kill them, Deb. Any of them. You know that."

"Yeah? Well you might as well have, because it was all your fucking fault. _All of it_." She replies.

"That's enough. I'm not going to just stand here and let you blame me for every bad thing that's ever happened in our lives, Debra. I'm not perfect! But you know what? Neither are you!" He declares.

"Don't you think I fucking know that? Every day I look back on every bad choice I've ever made, and it makes me sick. _I_ make me sick. So believe me, I don't need any of your lectures." Deb says.

Dexter opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again, locking his eyes back on hers.

"Why did you have to do it, Dex?" Deb asks.

"Why did _I_ have to do it? Deb, what are you talking about?" He asks.

He has that ridiculous wide-eyed look on his face. That look he gets whenever he's confused, and Deb almost laughs until she remembers why she's here. What she did. What _he_ did.

"Stalk me. Harass me. Refuse to leave me alone. Kill Briggs two fucking feet away from me. Drag me out of that shithole that I would have been perfectly fine with rotting in. _Why_?" Deb whimpers. "You know, for a while I'd even managed to convince myself that I actually hated you. Why did you have to come barging back into my life like some twisted version of a white knight? Why couldn't you just leave things the way they were? The way they were meant to be?"

"Because that isn't how things were meant to be, Deb. I love you. I couldn't watch you ruin your life." He answers.

"I guess you'd rather just take it, then?" She sniffles. "Go ahead. It isn't like there's much of a life left anyway."

"Don't say that." He begs.

That glint in his eye, Brian's glint, has all but vanished; and if she didn't know any better, she'd think that Dexter actually meant what he said. But if that were true then she wouldn't still be bound to this table now would she?

He can tell her how much he loves her until he's blue in the face, but that didn't stop him from choosing Hannah over her before, and it sure as fuck won't stop him now. He's here to exact revenge on the person who took his true love away from him, even if that person is his sister.

Even if he is hers.

She doesn't think she'll try to stop him.

"I guess we're more alike than you thought, Dex." Deb says. "Turns out your pure, innocent little sister isn't so innocent after all."

"You're a good person, Deb." Dexter tells her, though Deb thinks he's saying it to convince himself more than anyone else.

"No I'm not. How could I be, after killing Hannah McKay, the sweetest fucking bitch on the entire fucking planet?" She teases.

"Oh? So you're ready to talk now I take it?" Dexter asks. "Why did you do it, Deb?"

"The real question is how did I manage _not_ to do it for so long." She mumbles. "It wasn't…it wasn't _fun _for me, Dexter_. _But I warned her. I told her that refusing to comply meant forcing my hand. And once she started talking all that shit about you and Harrison…"

"What did she say about me and Harrison?" He interjects, leaning in closer to her.

"She was going on and on about how she would convince you and Harrison to abandon me and run away with her to God knows where. She said that she was going to be Harrison's new mom, and that it would eat me up inside. Normally I wouldn't let shit like that get to me, but she was _laughing_, and I just…I just snapped, Dex." She explains. "I just got tired of it. I'm so tired. But you can bet your ass that I'd pull that trigger again in a fucking heartbeat."

"We could never abandon you, Deb. You know that. Harrison loves you. _I_ love you." Dexter says with a pained look in his eye.

"Yeah? Well you could've fooled me," Deb chuckles, trying (and failing) to mask the tears that start to fall. "The way you obsess over her like some lovesick teenager…I mean Jesus Christ, Dexter! The woman poisoned you and left you on the side of the road and you _still_ can't get enough! And Harrison…he flipped his shit when he found out that Hannah was back. I don't think he's ever reacted to me like that before, and I'm his fucking _aunt_. I've been there for him, I've _always_ been there for him. Even when no one else was."

Dexter starts to interrupt her, thinking that she's finished, but Deb promptly cuts him off so she can finish her rant.

"You know what, Dex? I _am_ sorry. I didn't mean to rob you and Harrison of your only shot at happiness. I guess I'm finally starting to realize that everyone would be better off without me." She cries.

"Deb, I don't care what she tried to convince you of. I never planned to go anywhere with her. I only promised to get her somewhere safe. That was it. I would never abandon you." He claims. "I don't want to hear that shit again, okay?"

"But you would have, Dexter. Eventually. After all, you can't choose who you love, right? I know that more than anyone." She says, smiling weakly. "I just wish you knew how to pick 'em better, bro. I can't believe I'm saying this, but you…you deserve better."

"And who's better, Deb? _You_?" He asks, his visible skin starting to redden.

Deb tries to raise her hands to shield herself from his penetrating stare, cursing to herself when she remembers that her arms are bound to her side.

"Jesus, I didn't mean it like that." She sighs.

"Yes you did." He adamantly says. "Admit it, Debra."

"Are you asking me to admit that I'm _jealous_?" She laughs, meeting his gaze again. "That's not going to happen Dexter, because when it comes to Hannah McKay, I am the furthest fucking thing from jealous. Believe that."

He stares at her for a few silent moments, and then raises the knife. Just as he is about to bring it back down, Deb forces her eyes closed.

She's never been stabbed, so she doesn't know what to expect. She figures it can't feel any worse than a gun shot, so she braces herself for that.

The pain doesn't come.

Deb opens her eyes and is met with Dexter's piercing hazel ones. She hears the knife clank to the ground and watches as he removes his gloves and reaches down to her midsection, finally beginning to remove the layers of plastic that bind her.

With most of the plastic gone, his fingertips still linger on her stomach. She shudders, not only because of the odd coolness that comes with his flesh pressed against hers, but also because of the contrasting warmth of his breath washing over her.

He's close, too close, and the only cohesive thought running through her mind is that she needs to get away. _Now_.

She rises off of the counter, not even bothering to shield her naked body from the man before her. But before her feet even touch the ground, Dexter lightly nudges her shoulder and pushes her to the side to make room for him on the small countertop.

He sits down beside her and brushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face. She looks away self-consciously, feeling more than a bit confused by his newfound tenderness.

He grabs onto her chin, turning her face towards him. Debra can barely comprehend what's happening before Dexter is crushing his lips to hers.

It takes a few seconds for her to actually start to kiss him back. For her to even realize that this isn't all just some fucked up fantasy; that this is _real_.

And fuck, it's real alright.

All too soon, Dexter breaks the kiss. He rubs his thumb across his bottom lip, mumbling something low under his breath that she can barely even hear over the thundering of her heart.

"What the…what the fuck was that?" Deb asks, shakily crossing her legs to maintain whatever decency she possibly has left.

Dexter doesn't say a word, but he looks just as confused as she feels, and that's at least some consolation for her.

Deb gradually slides her hand up the length of his arm until she reaches his shoulder and rests it there.

He seems to take that move as some sort of signal. He suddenly gets off of the table for only a moment, removing his tight fitting shirt and revealing his bare chest to her.

Deb has seen him shirtless before of course, but this is different. This is uncharted territory for the both of them.

She takes a moment to drink him in, to admire his athletic figure. She's never really had much of a chance to really _see _him, scars and all. It's surreal to her.

Her eyes travel lower and his hands follow suit. He unzips his pants, hastily pulling them down and stepping out of them. His boxers immediately follow, and Deb sits there frozen, not knowing whether to look away or ogle him like a fucking creep.

He's hard, really fucking hard, and that confuses her, because this shouldn't even be happening. A few minutes ago he was holding a knife over her heart, and she actually thought he might kill her.

She never expected things to go from that to…_this_.

He climbs back onto the table; his palm slipping on what she can only assume is her own sweat. The fact that soon he could be slipping on their joint sweat both exhilarates and terrifies her.

"Spread your legs for me, Deb." He huskily instructs her.

It's the first thing he's said to her since things started to get weird, and she feels her heart start to race at the unexpected hoarseness in his voice.

She immediately lies down on her back and does as she's told, opening her legs wide for him. He settles in between her thighs, rubbing himself torturously along her folds.

His motions are slow and deliberate, and she's thankful that she has any dignity left at all; because if she didn't, she'd probably be begging him to stop the madness and just take her now.

But she isn't about to do that. Instead, she slightly lifts her back off of the slick surface, spreading her legs wider and hoping that he'll finally catch the hint and stop fucking around.

He does. Loud and clear.

Dexter grunts as he pushes into her, and Deb throws her head back, gasping at the sensation as he continues to drive himself deeper inside of her.

It's been a while since she's done this. The last time was months ago with Briggs, but she's wet enough for Dexter to slide into her with no problem at all. He fits perfectly inside of her, as if they were made for each other, the two matching pieces to one awfully fucked up puzzle.

He doesn't stop until she takes all of him, resting inside of her for a moment, not daring to move a muscle.

Dexter lowers his gaze to meet Deb's and she nods, giving him the permission that she's not even sure why he's seeking in the first place. Surely he has to know by now how much she wants this. How much she's _always_ wanted this.

He pulls out and comes slamming back inside of her, setting a pace that's fast and rough and not nearly enough.

Deb wraps her legs around his waist, digging her heels in the curve just above his ass so he can bury himself deeper inside of her.

"Oh, fuck." Deb moans as he changes the angle ever so slightly, hitting that sensitive bundle of nerves designed to drive her crazy.

He isn't loud, though she doesn't know why she would even expect him to be.

Maybe it's because his brother never was.

Before he drugged her, tied her down, and started waving a knife in her face, Deb always saw Dexter as the complete antithesis of Brian. It sends shivers down her spine to think about how wrong she might have been.

He fucks her hard and fast, just the way she likes it, as if he's been doing this all his life.

Soon, Deb feels his breathing starting to become more labored. He pulls out of her without warning, holding his cock in his hand. He touches himself a few more times before coming undone, releasing the remnants of their tryst on her lower belly with a guttural moan.

Deb bites down on her bottom lip and closes her eyes. She brings her hand down in between her legs, expertly slipping two fingers into her wetness so she can finish herself off.

Deb feels Dexter grab roughly onto her wrist and her eyes flutter open. She lifts her back off of the slippery countertop so she can better watch as he removes her fingers and grabs onto her legs. He drags her down to the edge of the counter and places his hands at both sides of her waist, lifting her up and off of the table.

Dexter drops one hand from her side and reaches in between his legs, giving himself a few quick strokes before sliding into her again.

He moves inside of her slowly, handling her with much more care than he previously had. But that all changes once he has her backed up against the wall.

His thrusts start to gradually become more intense, and no matter how much she wishes she could, Deb can't fight the urge to scream.

Dexter holds her up with one hand firmly gripping her ass, keeping the other planted on the wall to steady himself as he plunges wildly into her.

"Deb…" He moans, leaning in closer to nibble on her earlobe.

She tangles her fingers through his hair as the pressure starts to build, screaming louder as she feels his mouth traveling lower and lower until he bites down on the tender skin of her neck.

He pushes into her a few more times before they both find their release; him with a sweet moan and her with his name tumbling from her lips.

Dexter collapses to the floor, still clutching onto Deb's naked form. She lands on top of him and they stay like that for a while, splayed out on the plastic-covered floor as they simultaneously try to catch their breath.

Deb reaches out to touch Dexter's cheek, still in disbelief that any of this has even happened.

"Dexter…" She pants, untangling her limbs from his so she can get up and stand over him. "Jesus...W-what now?"

She feels their joint cum warm between her thighs, and any inkling she had that what just happened was anything short of reality quickly vanishes from her mind.

Dexter ignores her words and quickly rises from the floor, returning to the area where he'd haphazardly shed his clothes a while ago.

He pulls on his pants, not even bothering to search for his underwear. He tugs his shirt over his head next, going almost out of his way to avoid making any type of eye contact with her.

Dexter makes his way over to the front door in a blink, slamming it shut behind him without even so much as a mumbled goodbye.

Of course, that leaves Deb all alone to clean things up herself.

It's a mess. It's all a goddamn fucking mess…in more ways than one, now.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Heyyy everyone! I'm really sorry for taking so much longer to update than I originally planned to. I'm not going to make any excuses or anything but in my defense I did come down with the flu, and every time I tried to sit down and write, nothing was making sense to me lol. I did write parts of this chapter while I was still sick, so I'm not as confident about it as I would like to be, but regardless, I hope you all enjoy it. ****I want to reply to all of your comments personally, and I wish you guys all had accounts so I could do that privately but whatever, I guess I'll just do it here like I usually do :) I know a lot of people don't like long Author's Notes, but it would bother me if I didn't reply to all of you so if you don't like Author's Notes then feel free to scroll past this!**

**avagoodman, thanks a lot. I wish I had something more meaningful to say but you were the first person to review this and your compliment meant a lot to me. I hope you enjoy this chapter! ****ROSEY cheeks, I'm glad I could pique your interest once again. Fingers crossed that you enjoy what's coming next! ****f3arsentinel, I'm so happy that you love it! You know, I planned on this being a one or two shot but now I think it may have to go on a bit longer. I hope you'll stick around for the ride!**

**Tom, I don't even know where to start with you comment. First of all, thank you so much for the compliments, I'm honored that you think I'm a good writer because I'm constantly doubting myself, it's a really bad habit of mine. And saying that I captured Deb's voice is pretty much the highest possible honor for me, because I love Deb so much it's ridiculous. As for Dexter actually putting Deb on his table, I struggled with that as well. It was the jumping off point of this story for me though, oddly enough. When I first saw that scene with Dexter and Hannah (gags) I couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if Deb and Dex were the ones in that position instead. Also thanks so much for the other suggestions. I would definitely be interested in doing a rewrite of Dexter's reaction (or lack thereof) to Deb's feelings for him in _Argentina_! I don't want to make any promises but if that's something you all want to see then count me in :) **

**DlovesDexter, ****I hope I didn't leave you itching for too long! I'm glad you found the love scene hot, I'm still an amateur at writing sex scenes so it's nice to know that you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, too! ****shadow I always see you leaving the same comment, but I appreciate it nonetheless! Guest (1) Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Also, I see what you did there with the whole deep ;) thing. It made me smile, so thanks haha. Lady D Thank you, that's good to hear :) And yes, I concur, Debster forever. The writers really fucked us over, huh? I feel like I'm going to be eternally trying to rewrite all of the shit they put us through.**

**Guest (2) I'm glad you're loving it! I hope this update was quick enough for you! DeeDee83 I'm honored that you think I can do our favorite characters justice. That's a lot to live up to, but I'm definitely trying :) I was annoyed with myself for the cliffhanger, so I know how you feel lol. I hope this satisfies you, though honestly I probably just made it worse... darknessfalls28 Incredible is a lot to live up to, and very sweet of you to say, so thanks for that! GUEST (3) wow, I love your enthusiasm! Haha I would never forget about you guys. I'm sorry for taking a while, but better late than never, right? **

**Okay, I'm sorry for those obnoxious walls of text, but one last thing, I tagged this fic as angst for a reason, so take that as you will. I'm going to say this in advance, please don't be _too_ mad at me! lol Dexter is a very...frustrating person, to say the least. Also, I was going to rewatch some parts of season 8 to make sure I got the details right, but I never really got around to it so I'm hoping there aren't too many glaring inconsistencies here.**

**Reviews are love :)**

* * *

The sun beams bright through Debra's window, permanently forcing her out of her dream filled slumber like her alarm probably should have done thirty minutes ago.

She blinks away the sleep in her eyes, gradually psyching herself up so she can abandon the warmth of her bed and tightly close the curtains.

The cheap clearance bin curtains aren't too great at getting the job done, however, and with a resigned sigh Deb settles herself in the chair she keeps at the foot of her bed.

Fucking sun.

She massages her temples, wishing that the big yellow blob in the sky would take a fucking break for once. She could sure as shit use a reprieve from a new day with nothing to look forward to but new mistakes and even more glaring fuck ups. Yup, those seem to be her specialty lately.

But that's the sun for you, always reliable. Unlike stupid no good serial killing foster brothers that tie you down, fuck the shit out of you, and promptly exit stage left before you even have the chance to properly catch your breath.

Deb reaches over to her nightstand and grabs her cell phone, hesitating for a moment before working up the courage to actually turn on the device.

She has one voicemail from Elway that she decides to ignore, not really in the mood for one of his lectures in the midst of all of the other bullshit she's found herself buried in as of late.

Much to her surprise, Deb has actually been growing fonder of Jacob. But he's still her boss, and sometimes, he can still be a bit of an asshole. She doesn't mind the occasional playful banter with the guy, but there's another asshole that she's got to confront today.

There's one stop that she has to make before that, though.

Deb heads to the bathroom and peels off her pajamas, feeling more than a little bit disgusted with herself for deciding to skip showering all together last night because of how worn out she'd been.

She lingers under the streaming water much longer than usual to overcompensate for last night's laziness, scrubbing roughly at her arms, her legs, and her midsection – everywhere that _he_ touched – until the skin is red and irritated.

Once she finally feels free of him, can no longer smell him lingering along the contours of her body, she throws on the first few items of clothing she sees: a dingy pair of jeans, a loose fitting white top, and her most abused cardigan.

She then sulks over to the mirror and gives herself the once over, wondering when exactly her eyes started to look so…vacant.

But she shoves those deprecating thoughts away, just as she'd been doing for months now. Because if she didn't, she'd actually have to face them, and she sure as fuck isn't ready to open that can of worms again. The last time she did, she tried to kill Dexter as well as herself. When in that head space again, there's no telling what she might do.

Deb turns away from the mirror and walks to the living room in search of her car keys, tripping over some of the plastic wrap from last night that's still littered across the floor.

She spots Dexter's boxers laying on the floor where he'd left them and she picks them up, shoving them to the bottom of her purse.

"Jesus fucking Christ." She murmurs to herself. "This is pretty fucking bizarre right here."

Flashes of Dexter, of his hands all over her, touching her, feeling her, owning her, dwell in the back of her mind. Waking up naked and disoriented on Dexter's table has never exactly been Deb's desired method of foreplay, but damn if the result wasn't utterly fucking worth it.

She starts to lose herself in her daydream. If she focuses hard enough, she thinks she can even hear him calling out her name, can even feel the wetness of his tongue as he trails it down past her earlobe.

Briefly she wonders what else he could do to her with that nimble tongue. However, once she notices her keys in a bowl that she keeps by the door she snatches them up, pressing them hard into her palm to bring her back to reality.

After a few seconds of pain, Deb heads out of the door and over to her car.

She rolls down all of the windows so she can feel the wind blowing through her hair, and for a moment she feels like she may be able to convince herself that her entire world isn't falling apart.

But of course, that moment passes. They always do.

The minutes tick on but Deb keeps driving aimlessly, paying no attention to the steadily decreasing gas gauge.

She doesn't really have to drive very far to get where she needs to go. In Miami, there are drugstores on every corner; but she doesn't really like the thought of running into any random acquaintances on her way to buy the fucking morning after pill.

So she drives until she doesn't even recognize where she is anymore, pulling into the parking lot of a cute little mom and pop pharmacy after another forty-five minutes or so.

She puts on her aviators and smooths down her hair, trying her best to make herself look as presentable as possible given the circumstances. She hopes that the sunglasses will manage to conceal her identity; after all, she _was_ the lieutenant of homicide, and that isn't exactly a low key profession.

Deb doesn't think that a former police Lieutenant being caught buying Plan B counts as hot gossip around here, but she definitely doesn't need the attention regardless.

She swings the door open, cringing at the obnoxiously loud bell that sounds with her action, and is immediately greeted by a frumpy elderly woman with a wide smile on her face.

She looks ecstatic to see Debra, as if she's the first person she's actually come in contact with in years. Judging by the empty parking lot and the even emptier store, Deb thinks her assessment of the woman probably isn't too far off.

"Hello sweetie, what may I help you with today?" She asks her.

"Um, do you carry the morning after pill?" Deb mumbles, nervously tucking and un-tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

"What was that, dear? I didn't quite hear you." The woman says.

"You know…like…Plan B?" Deb stammers, folding her arms insecurely across her chest.

"Oh yes, of course we carry Plan B! Sorry about the misunderstanding." The woman apologizes, stepping behind the small pharmacy counter to rummage through her drug supply. "So…wild night last night, huh?"

"Uh, yeah…I guess you could say that." Deb snorts, trying her best to bite her tongue and not snap at the nosy old woman.

"Just a quick heads up, Plan B isn't effective if used as regular birth control. And despite popular belief, it isn't meant for terminating pregnancies." She explains.

The woman is annoying as all hell, but Debra was raised to respect those who respect her. She may no longer see herself as the virtuous woman that she set out to be once upon a time, but she'd like to think that she at least has _that_ going for her. She bites her tongue, electing to make pleasant small talk instead of berating the woman.

"Mmm, I'm well aware of that, thank you. I just wasn't really thinking last night. It won't be happening again, believe me." Debra replies.

"Well that's good to hear. I'm glad you came to me. You know what they say; más vale prevenir que lamenter. Better safe than sorry." The woman chuckles.

"Oh trust me, you have no idea how sorry I am." Deb smirks.

"What makes you say that? I wasn't always somebody's little old granny, you know. I've made more than my fair share of drunken mistakes." She says, playfully winking in Deb's direction. "But we live and we learn. It's what keeps the world turning, honey."

"If only it were just one drunken mistake," Deb sighs. "Then things would be so much simpler."

"Ah, so it was a sober mistake then?" The woman asks. "In my experience, those are a bit harder to navigate, but not altogether impossible. My advice? Don't worry your pretty little head too much. It causes wrinkles, you know."

The woman laughs heartily her own joke, and then sets the momentarily forgotten pill box down on the counter.

She reaches over the counter to place her hand on top of Deb's and the younger woman recoils, the uninvited skin on skin contact making her a little uncomfortable.

Gradually Deb relaxes, letting the other woman's touch linger for a little while. Oddly enough, it actually makes her feel a bit better.

The pharmacist pulls away before things have the potential to take a turn for the awkward, flashing Deb a warm smile before reaching for the pill box and scanning it.

"Okay honey, that'll be $50 even." She says. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Actually…could I have another one, please?" Deb asks, biting down nervously on her lower lip. "You know, better safe than sorry."

"Of course." The woman nods, walking over to the corner shelf to get the other pill. "$100. Cash or credit?"

Deb reluctantly reaches into her wallet, pulling out a crisp $100 bill and forking it over to the woman.

She raises the bill in the air and inspects it to make sure that it's real, storing it in the cash register once she's satisfied.

The woman hands over a receipt and a plastic bag with a smile that Deb returns, waving goodbye as she walks out the door.

When Deb makes it back to her car she takes a second to sit and think, not bothering to put the key in the ignition right away.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell phone, scrolling through her contacts until her finger stops at Dexter's name. She isn't sure what compels her to actually hit the call button, but she definitely isn't surprised when the call goes straight to voicemail.

With a sigh Deb puts her phone back in her pocket and rifles through her glove compartment, taking out one of the bottles of water that she keeps inside to replenish herself after a taxing jog.

She shakily takes one of the pills out of its casing, popping it into her mouth and swallowing it with a single swig of water.

Groaning, she screws the lid back on the water bottle, putting it back in the glove compartment along with the backup pill.

Silently, she wonders to herself why she even decided to buy a second one in the first place.

It's not like she's going to be needing it. It's not like her and Dexter will ever be together in that way again.

No, of course not. That's insane.

* * *

After spending most of the day driving around in circles, Deb heads back home for a change of clothes.

She knows that she has to seek him out soon, that she has to get out in front of this thing before it has the chance to eat her up inside; but she doesn't even have the first goddamn clue on how to handle a situation like this.

Deb has had her fair share of risqué sexual encounters, but what happened between her and Dexter last night crossed a new line. She didn't even know that was a possibility beyond her wildest dreams until Dexter enveloped her in plastic wrap on top of her kitchen counter and gave her the best screw of her life.

Until last night, Dexter looked at her with pity in his eyes whenever her feelings for him somehow slipped out in normal conversation. She hated that look.

She hated that he was ashamed of her, that he actually felt _sorry_ for her. She hated that he saw her as some stupid little school girl with a temporary, inappropriate crush that would surely fade away soon. Because it was, _is_, so much more than that.

But now, knowing that there's a chance that he feels the same about her? That changes everything, and it terrifies her.

Once Deb gets inside of her beach house, she goes straight to her room and begins to search through her closet. She doesn't want to change into anything obnoxiously flashy, especially because she knows that she'll find herself at Miami Metro soon, where a very horny Masuka will be there to greet her. But she does actually commit to making an effort to find something that can up her confidence a little.

She settles for her best pair of jeans and a flowy navy blue button down top, items that Dexter has seen her in before, so no one will have the chance to accuse her of being all dressed up with nowhere to go.

After she adds a hint of makeup and is finally pleased with her appearance, Deb heads back out on the road.

The drive to Miami Metro isn't a long one, and as she passes all of the familiar places she never even gave a second thought when making this drive day in and day out, Deb actually kind of misses it.

Occasionally, the thought of going back crosses her mind, but it's stupid and she knows it. She could never go back after what's she done. She doesn't deserve to.

Deb pulls into the closest available parking spot and strolls into the department with her head held high, wearing what she hopes is a confident grin.

After checking in at the front desk and being handed her visitor's pass, Deb steps inside the elevator and pushes the button that'll take her to the floor that Dexter's office is on.

Just as she expected, Masuka just so happens to be walking by the minute that the elevator doors open.

"LT!" He exclaims. "Tell me, what did I do to deserve this lovely surprise? It's not my birthday, is it?"

"What makes you think I would give enough of a shit about you to take time out of my day to drop in for a friendly visit?" Deb teases, stepping out of the elevator to stand in front of the shorter man. "Even if it was your birthday."

"Oh, so you're all business then?" He asks, winking at her mischievously. "Well as a matter of fact, so am I. Maybe we should put two and two together and see if we can make four…"

"Does every other word out your mouth have to be some fucked up innuendo? Vince, believe me, I would never let you put your two anywhere near mine. Even if we were the only fucking people left on the planet and it was our responsibility to repopulate." Deb retorts.

"Ah, there she is." Masuka chuckles. "I've missed you, Deb."

"Me too. Surprisingly enough." She says, leaning in to give him a hug.

"We're all lost without you, Deb." He whines. "The door is always open, you know. I'm sure no one would mind if you waltzed right back into that corner office and crowned yourself Lieutenant again. Actually, wait here. I'll do it for you."

"Mmm, that's a nice thought, Masuka. But I'm not so sure that you wield that type of power around here." Deb says, the corners of her lips melting into a warm smile.

"You're probably right," He frowns. "But that doesn't change anything, you know. We've kind of been drowning here lately."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." She admits, crossing and uncrossing her arms. "I guess you could say I've had a rough couple of months."

"You're welcome to step inside my office, take a seat on my lap, and tell daddy what's been bothering you." Masuka teases, wiggling his eyebrows in what Deb can only assume is his own bizarre method of seduction.

"Jesus fucking Christ, are you capable of having one conversation without reverting to full-on creep status?" Deb questions, pretending to keel over in disgust.

"It's all part of my boyish charm." Masuka replies. "Or so I've been told. So, what really brings you back to your old stomping grounds?"

"Uh, is Dexter around?" She asks. "I know he usually takes his break around this time, but it's important, and…"

"Oh yeah, the Dex man is definitely around. I covered for him yesterday after he stepped out for a little while, so he's been busy making it up to me all day." He answers with a cheeky grin.

"Okay, I don't even want to know what that entails. So…uh, yeah, thanks Vince. It was nice seeing you." She says.

Deb tries to make her way down the hall in search of her brother, but Masuka's hand latches onto her elbow before she has the chance to finally make her escape.

"There's a pretty good chance that he's still in the lab. I was about to go take my lunch break, but I could escort you there if you forgot the way." He suggests.

"Thanks, but no thanks. It's ten feet away, Masuka. I could find it with my eyes closed." She answers.

"Okay, well maybe some other time. See you later, hotter Morgan." Masuka says, waving at her as he walks over to the elevator.

Deb waits until she's sure he's gone before she walks the short distance to her brother's lab.

She takes a couple of deep breaths, _in and out in and out_, before placing one clammy hand on the knob and turning it.

Dexter sits hunched over his computer as usual, and although he keeps his eyes focused on the glowing screen before him, she isn't so sure that he doesn't realize she's standing there in the doorway.

"Dexter." She says, her voice betraying her intentions as his name leaves her lips as more of a whisper than a call to attention.

"_Dexter_!" She repeats when he makes no effort to turn around and face her.

"I'm busy, Deb. What is it?" Dexter asks groggily.

He swivels his chair around to face her, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"You're busy? You're _busy_!?" She questions through gritted teeth. "Well, when are you going to be not busy? Last night, you know, after we _fucked_, you were too busy to clean up the mess you made, and it's been a good twelve hours since then. I don't ever ask you for much, but I think you owe me an apology, or an explanation. _Something_."

"Jesus, Deb. Could we not do this now?" He asks, his voice small. "This is where I work."

"I know where the fuck this is. I drove myself all the way down here, didn't I?" Deb shouts, reaching into her purse and pulling out the pair of underwear that Dexter left on her floor last night. "Fuck you!"

She throws them in his direction, stopping to smirk and admire her handiwork when they actually end up hitting him directly in the face.

"Remember those, you psychotic piece of shit?" She asks him. "You left them on my floor, after you fucked me. _Remember_?"

"Not now, Deb." He insists once more, picking the underwear up and shoving them into his pocket. "My lab is not the place that we should be having this conversation."

Deb ignores his plea, instead deciding to search for something else to hurl at his thick skull.

She picks up a weird microscope looking thing, but it's too heavy for her to possibly hit him with from this distance. She drops it to the floor with a clang and turns her back to Dexter so she can search for something that has a little less weight to it.

When Deb feels his lithe arms wrap around her from behind, restraining her, it reignites the fire burning deep within her. That isn't necessarily a good thing for him, though.

Dexter may be controlling her arms, but he's paying no attention to her legs. Deb swiftly stomps down hard on his foot, eliciting an audible gasp from the man.

"Let me go or I'll give the other foot the same treatment, you fucking…fucktruck." She warns.

But Dexter doesn't let go of her. Instead, he wraps his arms around her even tighter and walks the both of them backwards until he plops down on his chair with Deb falling into his lap.

"Fucktruck? Not your most creative combination, I have to admit." He provokingly adds.

"Shut the fuck up and let go of me." Deb commands, trying to turn her head so she can bite him.

Dexter repositions himself so that his hold on her is even more restrictive, and for a second she wonders if this is how he takes down his victims before they end up on his table.

"Stop struggling," Dexter whispers, his heated breath tickling the back of her neck and sending a rush of blood to her cheeks. "You know I don't go anywhere without at least one dose of M99."

"Oh, bullshit. You wouldn't fucking dare." Deb responds through gritted teeth.

"But I already –"

"Hey-O!" A cheerful Masuka interrupts as he suddenly comes barging through the door.

He stops to stand in the doorway, mouth agape, taking in the scene: Deb squirming in Dexter's lap as he holds her down, one arm around her waist and the other resting just slightly below her breasts.

It would look suggestive to anyone who was even one percent of the perv that Masuka is known to be, so it comes to no surprise to Debra when that creepy laugh comes pouring from his lips.

"I had a dream like this once," Masuka begins. "Except I was holding a video camera, and the two of you were wearing a few less items of clothing."

"Uh, sorry to ruin your fantasies, Vince, but she's still my little sister. Whenever I'm around her it's strictly a clothes-on type of situation." Dexter chimes in.

The fact that Dexter is still gripping tightly onto Deb's writhing form doesn't escape Masuka as his eyes travel down the length of her and then slowly back up to Dexter's face.

"Then why don't you let go of her, man?" He asks. "I mean, aren't you two a little old to be tussling like that?"

"Mind your fucking business, Masuka." Deb replies, getting out of Dexter's lap once he finally finds the good sense to release her. "Why are you here anyway? I thought you were on your way out."

"Well thanks for the warm welcome." He replies, feigning offense. "Actually, I wanted to invite the both of you to get a bite to eat with me. I figured that Dex could use a break, and Deb, I knew you were here already, so…."

"Thanks for the invitation, Vince, but we're all good here." Dexter replies, flashing that gracious smile that Deb had come to recognize as an essential part of his mask.

"Alright. Catch you two later, then." Masuka says, turning around to leave the room. "Oh, and try not to kill each other while I'm gone."

Once the coast is clear, Deb takes a seat on top of Dexter's desk, reaching her hand out to push the power button on his computer.

The screen goes black and the phony smile fades from her brother's face, replaced with an agitated scowl.

"Are you ready to talk now?" She asks him.

"I don't know, Deb. Are _you_?" Dexter retorts.

"What the fuck do you think I was trying to do before you put me in a fucking chokehold?" Deb questions, silently wondering if Dexter could actually be this stupid or if this is just another one of his many ways of fucking with her head.

"Alright then, let's talk. You killed an unarmed woman yesterday, Deb. You might've thought that you were justified in doing so, but you can't just go around killing people. The Deb I know, the Deb I _love_, she would never do something like that. So what does that make you, then?" He asks, his voice shaky with the threat of tears.

"I don't know, Dex. That sounds a lot like…" She trails off, letting the realization sink in. "Fuck me, that sounds a lot like _you_."

"Exactly." He answers. "And I don't want that for you, Deb. Living like this, having these urges, it's like my own personal prison. Just because I was given a life sentence doesn't mean that you need one to match. You're not me. You're _better_."

"So let me get this straight...killing LaGuerta, that was fine, because I was saving _your_ ass? But getting rid of Hannah all of a sudden means that I've reached the point of no return? That I'm a fucking psychopath!?" Deb wonders, her voice screeching with newly rediscovered anger.

"That is not what I meant at all, Deb. Stop twisting my words, that isn't fair." Dexter appeals.

"Dexter, you may never want accept it and that's fine. But killing Hannah? That was for you, too. It was for all of us. As long as she was free to do what she does, none of us were ever safe. You were too busy thinking with your dick to ever admit it out loud, but you know I'm right." She assertively adds.

"Deb, I –"

"I gave her two options, rotting in jail or a bullet to the brain." Deb continues. "And she…well, she made her choice. You can call me evil. You can call me heartless, that's fine. But you won't catch me losing any sleep over Hannah McKay's wasted potential."

"Aren't you going to ask me what I did with the crime scene?" Dexter asks, his jaw clenching. "Or have you not even bothered to give it a second thought?"

"No." Deb simply replies.

"Why not?" He questions, his pleading hazel eyes holding hers captive as if he could somehow access all of her hidden intricacies if only given the chance.

"Because, I know that you took care of it." Deb says.

"And what if I didn't? What if I wasn't there to clean up your mess?" Dexter asks.

She knows that it's all hypothetical, that he would never let her take the fall. If anything, he'd sacrifice himself if it meant protecting his sister.

The fact that he even thinks he has to ask upsets her, but she knows why.

Still, she has half a mind to end the conversation here. Whenever she wants to talk, it's always "I'm busy, Deb" or "Maybe some other time, Deb". Why should she be expected to give him the miles he asks for when all he can ever seem to give her in return is inches?

"You wouldn't." She finally answers. "I know you. I know that you'd do anything for me. Even that. I hate it, but I know what she meant to you, Dex, and I'm sorry. It was never fair for me to ask that of you, but the fact is I never really had to. You were always going to do whatever it took to protect me in the end."

Dexter's face softens as he reaches a hand out and places it over one of hers, tenderly rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

"I wanted to call you back this morning." He shyly admits. "But I just…I couldn't."

"You know you can talk to me, Dexter." Deb smiles. "Always."

"No. No, I can't. Not about this." He refuses. "This is…this is new to me."

"And it's just as new to me, Dexter. I mean, we fu-" Deb starts, actually choosing to censor herself for once in her life. "We had sex. That's not nothing. I had to drag myself to a pharmacy this morning so I could buy the morning after pill. It was mortifying. The least you could do is talk to me."

"I…I…" He stutters, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water.

"What happened last night…I haven't been able to think about anything else since." Deb continues. "I've been running on autopilot, and at the rare chance that I was even able to scrape together a solid thought, it was just…you. _Us_. Together. I know you must feel the same…"

"Deb, I told you, I can't talk about this." Dexter maintains. "I'm confused, okay?"

"Fuck, and I'm not!?" Deb snorts, snatching her hand out from under Dexter's. "I spent over a year pining over you like a fucking idiot, even after you told me it was all in my head. And now you just randomly change your mind? What gives, Dexter? You have to talk to me."

He stares at her silently with the same goofy look on his face, and she can't help but feel used. She feels the tip of her ears burn as her rage starts to consume her. But she's not giving up. Not yet.

"What the fuck, Dex? I'm spilling my guts to you here and all you can do is sit there like an asshole?" She asks, wiping away the pesky tear that manages to come trickling down her cheek without her permission.

She can't do a thing about the others, though. All at once they come pouring out, and she has no choice but to let them fall.

It makes her sick, letting him see her at her weakest.

Dexter has seen her cry more times than she can count, and all of those times, he's been the one to make it all better. But it's different now.

Now, as he keeps his ass firmly planted in his stupid swivel chair, wide-eyed and stanch in his silence, she aches for the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around her. Even more, though, she aches to bloody her knuckles against his jaw with a few good punches.

"Every day, I give you the ammunition to destroy me. I've laid myself bare to you in every way possible now. I give and I give and you just stand there and you _take_ until I'm left with nothing." Deb cries. "Dexter, I have nothing left. _Nothing_. And all I ask is that you fucking talk to me and you can't even do that! Why do I keep lying to myself? How did I ever manage to convince myself that I mean to you all that you mean to me?"

"Debra, please –"

She hears the sound of the slap before she even grasps the fact that she's done it.

Dexter brings his hand up to cup his cheek, nursing the enflamed skin with a shocked look on his face.

"You slapped me." He mumbles.

"No shit, Sherlock." Deb fires back.

"I think you should go." Dexter says, speaking softly as if that'll make his words hurt her any less. "We were only just finding our way back to each other, and I don't want either one of us to ruin what we have. Don't do something else you're gonna regret."

"You're a greedy fuck, Dexter!" She yells, pointing a shaky finger in his face. "You can't just go around taking whatever you want from people. I won't let you do that. Not to me! I've loved you my entire life, and I know you feel the same way about me. I know you do."

"Fine," he sighs, dropping the protective hand down to his side. "Do you really want to know why I did what I did yesterday? Are you sure you can handle it?"

"Are you seriously asking me that right now? Are you out of your fucking mind?" She asks. "The only reason I came here was for an explanation, and I'm not leaving until I get one. And it better be a damn good one, Dexter, or I swear to fucking God I –"

"I felt sorry for you." He answers, finally rising from his chair to meet her face to face.

"What? No, y-you're lying." She yelps, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I guess that's not entirely untrue…" Dexter admits. "After losing Hannah for the _second_ time now, I was overwhelmed. I wasn't thinking straight. You know that I'm not good with emotions, Deb. I was just…lonely, and I guess I took advantage of you, and I'm sorry."

"Fuck that, Dexter. I don't believe you! You need to tell me the truth." Deb pleads.

"I think that it would be best if we didn't see each other for a while." He replies coldly, looking anywhere but at her. "I didn't want to upset you. I'm sorry"

"Well it's a little too late for that now, isn't it?" Deb sniffles, the constant stream of tears distorting her vision.

It's not like it matters, though. She couldn't recognize the man standing before her even if she tried.

"Save your fucking apologies," She continues. "They've never done me any good."

She stares him down for a few more seconds, bolting out of the door when he doesn't even give her so much as a single glance.

She doesn't try to hide her tears as she makes her way through the crowded police station, ignoring the concerned faces of her former coworkers and their pointless words of encouragement.

When Deb finally makes it to her car she starts it in a hurry, pulling out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

She's lucky enough not to run into any red lights. She's so hell bent on destruction that she isn't sure that she'd stop even if she had to.

When Dexter's apartment complex comes into view, Deb squeezes her car into the closest available spot. She angrily shoves her hand into the bottom of her purse to dig around for the spare key he gave her years ago, tossing her purse to the car floor once she finds it.

She marches up the steps two at a time, slamming the door open once she reaches the top.

She doesn't know where to start, what to do first. All she knows is that she wants to destroy it all. She wants to ruin everything, to turn his life upside down like he did hers. The unfeeling bastard probably won't lose any sleep over a few broken vases, but if she can upset him even a little, if she can get a fucking reaction out of him, she'll count that as a victory.

She wants to start with the picture of the two of them that he's displayed on his desk all of these years. The one that she can't believe she actually thought meant something to him.

Deb grabs the framed photograph off of the desk, and it shatters as she drops it to the ground, screaming in terror at the posed corpse seated in her brother's chair. Half of the man's skull has been removed to reveal the parts of his brain that were still left intact, and Deb notes that there isn't a drop of blood to be found.

She reaches out an unsteady hand to spin the chair towards her, gasping when she realizes that the dead body belongs to that kid from yesterday. Zach. Dexter's…accomplice?

She knows that her brother couldn't have done this. She assumes that he's been at work all day, but that's beside the point. She can't think of a single good reason he would have to do this and leave the evidence in his own apartment. No, this was someone else. But who? One of those disturbed Bay Harbor Butcher fans?

Is this some twisted gift? Some crazy sort of offering?

"See anything you like?" A shrill voice calls out from behind her.

Deb turns around and comes face to face with a familiar looking man. She knows that she's seen him before, but she can't quite place him.

The corners of his mouth turn up into a devious smirk, and then it hits her. The man didn't sit right with her the first time she saw him, and now she knows why. His beady eyes stare her up and down, and she stealthily reaches a hand behind her to feel around for something to hit him with.

"You're Cassie's boyfriend. Saxon, was it? Oliver Saxon?" She asks.

"That's what they call me now, yes." He smiles. "I can't say that I remember your name, though. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you, but I have a feeling that we're going to have a lot of fun together."

"You'd like that huh, you psycho fuck?" Deb smirks.

She points a stapler in Saxon's face, the only thing that she could successfully grab on to from Dexter's desk that seemed like it could actually be of any use to her.

She gets in a good slash to the man's face and as he clutches onto his bleeding cheek, she turns to run towards the door. Before she can turn the knob she feels his hand latch onto the ends of her hair, tugging her backwards until she is pressed up against him.

He wraps one arm around her neck and keeps the other firmly at her midsection, trapping her.

"You didn't think you would be getting away from me so easily, did you?" He taunts her. "Not when we were just getting to know each other?"

She feels him tighten his arm around her neck, restricting her airway. He laughs as she begins gasping for air, mumbling in her ear that it will all be over soon.

Her vision starts to blur, and as the darkness takes hold, she isn't sure that she can fight it anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm going to apologize like I always do for taking a while to update. I swear I'm going to do my best to get the next chapter up faster, though this one is like a thousand words longer than the other two to make up for how slow I am lol. This one is from Dexter's POV, because of course I had to leave everyone in suspense about what happened to Deb ;) I think I may return to her POV for the next chapter though. Dexter is significantly harder for me to write, but I like a challenge so who knows haha. I had to rehash some of the stuff with Saxon's origins for this chapter, so I hope that doesn't annoy you too much. I'm going to try to make him as interesting as possible, I promise.**

**I'm not going to reply to your individual comments this time because I don't want this to get too long but thank you sosososo much for all of your kind words of encouragement, and Tom, thanks for your suggestions for my rewrite of 'Argentina'. They're really interesting, and I'll definitely be taking them into consideration! If any of you have any other requests/suggestions I would love to read them because I kind of suck at coming up with ideas. **

**Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside... :) **

* * *

_I think that it would be best if we didn't see each other for a while. _

His own careless words ricochet in his mind, stinging his hollow heart like a shot of venom injected straight into his jugular.

_I felt sorry for you._

He regrets that part the most, can hardly believe that he allowed words so hurtful to escape his parted lips. Deb handed him the knife and he sat there and let her believe that he had no problem burying it deeper and deeper inside.

_I didn't want to upset you. I'm sorry._

Dexter may have been feeding his sister nothing but lies a few short minutes ago, but the fact that he never wanted to upset her, at least that much had been true.

He'd tried to fight the urge to gaze into her eyes as she pleaded with him to make things right; but Debra has had a particularly haunting effect on him for as long as he can remember, one that he can never seem to ignore for long. Still, he couldn't bear to look into those hopeful eyes as their usual stunning shade of hazel morphed into a deep green as she gave up in the battle against her tears.

He couldn't withstand the thought that she'd fled from his lab a blubbering mess because of words he'd said to her. Words that were only meant to protect her.

He knows that he's a fuck up. Of that, he's perfectly aware. If Deb hadn't stormed out earlier, he's sure that she would have called him out on all of that and more. Honestly, he wishes she had.

He tries to convince himself that he had to hurt her feelings now in order to avoid hurting them even worse later, but his traitorous thoughts tell a different side of the story.

"What the hell did you just do to Deb, _hermano_?" Batista asks.

Dexter jumps suddenly at the sound of his voice. He hadn't even heard Angel come in.

He wants to blame his obliviousness on the other man's soft footfall, but he knows that the only reason he hadn't heard him was that he was so lost in his own thoughts. The longer Deb is away from him, the longer she spends being who knows where doing who knows what, the more he feels himself starting to slip. He can't let that happen again. He needs her back.

"There's something wrong with Deb? What do you mean, Angel?" Dexter asks, deciding to utilize the always reliable 'Dexter is well-meaning but genuinely clueless' routine.

"Well I didn't see her personally, but Miller told me that Deb bolted out of here in hysterics." Batista explains. "I thought she had been doing better lately."

"I thought so too." Dexter replies, holding his head in his hands to feign confusion. "She came here to see me and we talked for a little bit. I could tell that something was bothering her but I didn't want to say anything to upset her so I just left it alone."

"It's been rough time for all of us these past couple of months, but I'm especially worried about Debra." Batista states, closing the door behind him. "What did you do that managed to get her so worked up, anyway? I doubt she was mad for no reason."

"I'd…I'd rather not get into it." Dexter insists. "But even if I wanted to, I wouldn't even know where to start. It sort of came out of the blue, I guess."

"Hormones, maybe?" Batista jokes. "You know how that goes."

"No. No, it wasn't that. I guess I should have said something." Dexter adds with a sigh. "Maybe I should say something now. But if she really is angry with me, I doubt she'll bother picking up the phone when I call. You know how Deb is. Once you've gotten on her bad side, you may as well be six feet under."

"I've known you and Deb for years now, Dexter. Your little spats never seem to last very long. Actually, just between you and me, Jaime and I could stand to learn a few things from you two about healthy sibling relationships." Batista laughs.

Dexter flashes a queasy smile the older man's way. If Angel knew the truth, the _actual_ truth, then he would be singing a very different tune. Wordlessly, Dexter thanks the God he doesn't believe in for the underappreciated gift of secrets. He doesn't know where he'd be without them.

"But anyway, speaking as your boss _and_ your friend," Batista continues. "I'm going to order you to take the rest of the day off. Go find your sister and make things right, okay?"

"Are you sure about that, Angel?" Dexter considerately asks, dedicated to keeping his charade going a little while longer. "I mean, Miami's overflowing stock pile of serial killers never takes the rest of the day off."

"I think we can manage a few hours on our own without you swooping in like a superhero, catching the bad guys for us." He smiles. "Now go find Deb."

"You got it, Lieutenant." Dexter replies with a mock salute and an accompanying chuckle. The irony of Batista's comment doesn't escape him. "See you tomorrow morning, buddy."

Batista gives him a kindly nod before making his way out of the door, and as soon as he's gone, Dexter springs into action. He powers down his computer, making sure to back up all of his files just in case, and then grabs his bag on his way out the door. He waves away concerned coworkers, offering them polite smiles until he finally finds himself in the parking lot and in the comfort of his own car.

He starts the car, taking out his cell phone to text Deb before hurriedly pulling out of the lot.

_Deb, we need to talk. Text me back as soon as you get this. _

He decides against going to Deb's bungalow. She would definitely suspect that as the first place he'd look, so naturally that would be the last place she'd go. He drives around a few familiar blocks instead, telling himself that he's bound to find her soon. She couldn't have gotten very far. After a few minutes of wandering through empty streets and scanning packed parking lots for his rogue sibling, Dexter gives up and decides to pull over and check his phone.

No new messages.

_You never go anywhere without your phone, Debra. Don't do this. Please. I'm sorry._

He parks next to a crowded bodega, ignoring the quizzical stares he receives from random passerby's. The minutes tick by – or has it only been seconds? – slow as molasses, and Dexter finds himself obsessively checking his phone like a teenage girl going through her first breakup.

_I'm worried about you, Deb. Pick up your fucking phone._

He decides to call her, foolishly believing that maybe she'd prefer to actually hear the sound of his voice rather than reply to an impersonal text.

"Hey," her smooth voice answers from the other end of the line, sending a burst of warmth to his chest.

"Deb! Finally. Listen, I –"

"…sorry I can't answer your call right now. You know what to do."

"Fuck!" Dexter shouts, the obnoxious beep ringing in his ears. "Deb, I don't know what else to say other than you have to call me back. _Now_…please? We- we can talk about this. I'm ready to talk now, okay? If this is you trying to rile me up, well, mission accomplished. _Deb_…"

His voice cracks as he makes his final plea and all at once he feels ashamed of himself. It never should have come to this.

Dexter ends the call but still refuses to accept that this is it. He doesn't think he can make it through a repeat of what happened after LaGuerta. If Deb tries to disappear herself again, he'll do everything in his power to bring her back to him. He's done it once and he'll do it again.

He decides to go home, hoping that the universe will toss some undeserved luck his way and Deb will be there, waiting to hash it out with him. He can take her anger. He'll take anything she wants to hurl at him if given the chance.

When Dexter pulls into the semi-vacant parking lot and sees Deb's car parked in front of his building he smiles to himself. He hurries to his apartment, barging through the door in anticipation. He expects to see Deb wading in the midst of chaos of her own making; his clothes strewn across the floor, furniture tossed on its side, and maybe even a few broken vases that he couldn't care less about. What he _does_ see, however, is much worse.

"Zach…?" Dexter mumbles in disbelief.

He doesn't know why he even bothers saying anything at all. The boy is dead. His exposed brain (the parts of it that still remain, that is) spells out that fact loud and clear.

"_So if you cannot take my hand, and if you must be going, I will understand. You gotta make your own kind of music…_"

The song blares ominously through the speakers, sending shivers up Dexter's spine.

"Deb!" He calls out. "Debra, are you here?"

For the first time in a long time, he is relieved that he doesn't get a response from his sister.

Dexter inches closer to his desk, stopping in his tracks halfway there so he can bend over to pick up the picture of himself and Debra that's been displayed on his desk all these years. The frame is completely shattered, and the picture itself isn't much better off. Part of Deb's smiling face has been scratched away due to the fallen shards of glass, and he feels an ache in his chest when he realizes that the photo can't be replaced. It's one of a kind. Like her.

He turns his attention back to the corpse before him, wondering how it is that he is able to feel more remorse over the loss of a decade old photograph than the loss of an actual human life. A normal person wouldn't be this way.

Dexter shakes it off, forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He can't have a dead body rotting away in the middle of his apartment. Not when his son is due back home in a little over an hour. Not when Deb is still missing in action.

Quickly he walks to his bathroom, taking out a couple of cotton swabs from the cabinet so he can collect whatever evidence he can find under Zach's fingernails. The boy may have managed to claw at his attacker before he was killed. If Dexter can get the killer's DNA, then they'll surely be on his table before the week is through. The thought doesn't make him happy like it may have before, but it has to be done.

There's blood under Zach's fingernails, and if he's lucky, maybe he'll find a few skin cells, too. Dexter places the evidence in a zip lock bag and sets it down on the desk. All of a sudden, he notices a familiar object by Zach's feet. But no…no, it can't be. Deb's cell phone? Why would she leave her phone carelessly on his floor? She never would. Not by choice.

He thinks back on her car, the only one besides his parked in the empty lot. She must have come here to blow off some steam, just like Dexter thought she would, so what happened between then and now? He doesn't want to jump to any conclusions, but he knows what the only possible answer is.

Zach's body hasn't gone cold yet. The removal of his anterior insular cortex couldn't have possibly been done in Dexter's apartment, there isn't enough blood; but he was brought here almost immediately afterward. Posed and left here out in the open for Dexter to walk in on. Only it wasn't Dexter who first made the grand discovery. Deb must have walked in on whoever did this to Zach while he was in the middle of his sick ritual. This disturbed psychopathic killer, this so-called Brain Surgeon, must have taken her.

All of a sudden, Dexter's legs give out.

He falls to the floor, shakily clutching Deb's lost phone in one hand. He cries out, muffling his pained scream with his other hand.

Once he gets that out of his system, he tries to assess the scene like he normally would. He has no idea who this man is, and not even the slightest clue where he could have taken his sister. That's bad.

He has blood from under Zach's fingernails, hopefully the blood of his attacker. That's good.

There's no visible spatter across the walls and no blood on the carpets. That's also good. Wherever Deb is, there's a significant chance that she hasn't been hurt. Well, not physically anyway. But emotionally? That's another story. One that Dexter is ashamed to admit he had a hand in writing.

But he can't let himself focus on that. Not now. Not while Deb is in danger and he doesn't have even the slightest fucking clue where this unfamiliar monster could have taken her.

Dexter grabs his makeshift evidence bag and heads to the front door, stopping dead in his tracks when he catches Zach's lifeless eyes watching him.

He wants to speed back to the station and run tests on these blood samples, but he can't just leave Zach's corpse in the middle of his living room to putrefy. The last thing he needs is Jaime bringing Harrison back home early and successfully traumatizing them both.

With a resigned sigh Dexter walks back over to his desk and sets down the bag of cotton swabs.

"Time to get to work." He declares.

After disposing of Zach's body in his typical fashion, making sure to double check that he didn't miss any clues that Deb could have left behind for him and ensure that his apartment is spotless, Dexter hurries back to the station.

With Masuka out at a crime scene Dexter has the lab to himself, as well as the perfect opportunity to test the blood he found beneath Zach's fingernails without any unnecessary distractions. Dexter wouldn't dare get the police involved unless Deb's life depended on it – too many loose ends that he wouldn't be able to explain away. Besides, he wants this one for himself.

He goes through the standard DNA profiling process, and when the "no matches found" message flashes across the computer screen it takes everything Dexter has in him to keep his cool.

A catastrophic breakdown won't help anyone now, much less Deb, so he manages to hold himself together. For her.

"Think. Think." He mumbles. "There has to be something more. Something I missed…"

And then it hits him. If he can't identify Deb's captor, maybe he can find the next best thing. Something that can lead him right to the bastard. _A relative_.

Dexter runs a mitochondrial analysis on the sample, childishly crossing his fingers as he hopes for a tangible result this time.

When the name flashes onto the screen he can hardly believe it. There is a direct familial match in the system for the Brain Surgeon's blood. A fucking _matrilineal match. _

But no…no, it's impossible. The Brain Surgeon, the elusive serial killer that Dexter has been hunting for weeks, can't possibly be Dr. Evelyn Vogel's son. She never even mentioned _having_ a son.

He wants to believe that it isn't true, but according to the blood, it very much is. And blood? Blood never lies.

* * *

Dexter arrives at Evelyn's house in a flash, parking his car haphazardly in the closest available spot. He contemplates going into his trunk for a few of his tools, but he quickly decides against it. They won't be necessary.

Dexter runs over to the woman's front door, taking the steps two at a time. As he pounds his fists noisily at the door he also shouts the psychiatrist's name, guaranteeing that she hears him loud and clear.

Vogel opens the door almost immediately, her face relaxed as if there is nothing out of the ordinary going on.

"Hello Dexter." she warmly greets him. "I don't remember you scheduling an appointment for today, but I'd be happy to sit and…"

"No appointment," He cuts her off. "You have ten seconds to tell me where Debra is."

"Dexter, I haven't seen your sister in –"

"You're down to _five_ seconds, now." He growls. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to play games with you today, Evelyn?"

"I would never play games with you, Dexter. You should know that by now." She replies, her voice velvety smooth without even a hint of fallaciousness. "We've gotten to know each other quite well as of late. Now, how about you come inside and tell me what this is all about?"

Dexter nods in the older woman's direction without a word, gently nudging past her so he can step inside of the house. He takes a seat in one of two empty chairs, the very same chair he'd sat in during his most recent session with Deb. He feels foolish for believing the argument they had that day was the worst to come.

The Morgans have been playing a very dangerous game these past few months. When one of them does something bad, it's almost like the other is compelled to do something worse in return. Dexter could easily blame it all on Deb turning his world upside down the day she disappeared on him, but it would be unfair to claim that that was the source of it all and he knows it.

Dexter killing Briggs right before Deb's eyes, Deb trying to off them both, Dexter almost going back to Hannah, Deb _killing_ Hannah, it's as if it's all been one big contest. Dexter fears that what he did to Deb last night may have crowned him the victor; but what exactly is his prize?

He pushes those thoughts aside, waiting anxiously for Dr. Vogel to join him in the empty seat beside him. Deb's seat.

"Would you care for a cup of tea? I was just in the middle of putting a kettle on the stove when I heard you calling for me." She says. "It must be urgent. I don't think I've ever heard you sounding quite so desperate."

"I don't want any of your fucking tea." Dexter snarls, immediately standing back up to face her. "All I want is for you to tell me where my sister is."

"I haven't seen Debra since our last session, and it's been a long while since then. There is no need to snap at me, Dexter." She proclaims. "Here, why don't you sit back down so we can talk about what's troubling you?"

Without even so much as a thought, Dexter lunges at the woman. He wraps both of his hands around her neck and squeezes, making sure to hold tight enough to send her a clear message while still giving her enough room to breathe. He doesn't want to hurt her.

"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time. _Where is my sister_?" Dexter asks.

"I-I don't know, Dexter. Please let me go." She pleads, her pupils dilating as her anxiety builds. "I haven't done anything wrong. I've been here all day reviewing patient files. Don't do this_._"

Reluctantly, Dexter drops his hands to his sides but still leaves her little room to breathe, refusing to give her even an inch of space at the slim chance that she may try to make an escape.

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me." She smiles, reaching down to smooth out her blouse. "Good. Now, let's talk, shall we?"

"I don't think you're understanding me very well, Evelyn." Dexter says through gritted teeth. "Deb is missing, and you're going to help me find her. _We _don't need to talk about anything. _You_ do. So go ahead. Start talking. You won't like what'll happen if I'm forced to ask you again."

"What I said is the truth. I haven't seen Debra in days. I don't understand what makes you think I can be of any help." She replies, unwavering. "A while ago I suggested that the two of you spend some much needed time apart. I thought you two were finding your way back to each other, but maybe she decided to take my words into consideration instead. She'll be back soon enough, I'm sure. My advice? Let her have her space. I must admit though, your heightened response to Debra's absence worries me. How long has she been gone, exactly?"

"You're not the one that gets to ask questions here, _doctor_. I am." Dexter says, placing a hand at her neck in warning. "She isn't just _gone_. She was taken. The Brain Surgeon has her."

"The Brain Surgeon? Dexter, are you sure?" She gasps.

"Have you ever known me to be _un_sure? I wouldn't be here if I was!" Dexter yells. "He murdered Zach and left his brutalized corpse at the apartment for me to find. Deb must have walked in on him as he was staging his twisted little scene, and so he took her. If he killed Zach to get under my skin, then certainly he must know that taking Deb is an even better way to do just that. What I couldn't figure out is why he would be targeting me in the first place. How could he know about my ties to Zach? Do you have any suggestions for why that would be, Evelyn?"

"No. No, of course not." She replies. "I was the one who asked for your help with stopping this killer. You can't possibly be suggesting that I have anything to do with all of this carnage."

Her eyes dart across the room and Dexter knows that he finally has her right where he wants her. He slides his hand further up her neck, resting it on top of a particularly plump vein. He can feel her pulse quickening, can hear her breath hitching as traces his fingers across the pulsating vein.

"The only way I could possibly be on this Brain Surgeon's radar is if he somehow had ties to someone close to me. Someone who was of great importance to him. But who? A sister? A brother? Or how about a _mother_?" Dexter sneers, inching so close to the woman that his lips brush against her ear as he speaks.

"A mother? You know the identity of the Brain Surgeon's mother?" She asks.

He can feel her shaking now. Whether she's trembling because she's been backed into a corner by a formidable killer of her own making or because of something more sinister Dexter has no way of knowing for sure; but what he does know is that he's left the woman with nowhere to run.

As he looks into her bulging eyes he knows that she wouldn't dare run anyway. She knows that he can make her his newest victim before a strangled cry for help even has the chance to escape her lips.

He doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't think he ever could. But that doesn't mean that he's above using her fear to his advantage. The closer he comes to getting Vogel to talk, the closer he comes to saving Deb.

"You never told me you had a son." He declares. "Much less a psychopathic, serial killing one. I've been an open book since the day I met you, but I guess you didn't feel obligated to offer me the same courtesy. Tell me, what kind of sick game have you been playing? Calling on me to hunt down the very monster that you were responsible for unleashing into the world? That's a vile thing to do. You know that, don't you, Evelyn?"

"Dexter, I don't understand what you're getting at here." She frowns. "I only had one son. His name was Richard, and he died suddenly when he was just a boy. There must be some sort of mistake."

"Blood never lies. Blood never makes mistakes." Dexter declares, lifting his hand from the woman's neck. "I found blood underneath Zach's fingernails. It was the killer's blood. Zach must have fought back when he was being taken, and he managed to get a few good scratches in. I ran a standard DNA test and there were no matches in the system, so I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when I decided to test for mitochondrial DNA afterward and actually got results. The DNA was a fucking matrilineal match, Evelyn. To you. The Brain Surgeon is your son."

"No…" Vogel mutters more to herself than to Dexter. "No, it can't be. It simply cannot be."

She shakes her head in disbelief, sinking down to the floor in distress.

"Tell me about your son." Dexter demands, crouching down to meet her at eye level.

"Sons. I have – I _had_ two sons." She finally admits.

"Tell me about them." He instructs her, placing his hand softly on her shoulder as if it will somehow undo his previous moments of violence.

Vogel opens her mouth only to close it again, and Dexter fears that she won't be able to bring herself to tell the story of her boys. He doesn't want to frighten her any more than he already has, but without the woman's testimony to help lead him to the killer, his sister is as good as dead. That simply isn't a possibility. Deb can't die because of Dexter's fuck-ups. She's going to survive him. She has to.

Dexter decides to try a more tender approach to coax the doctor into talking this time, offering her a hand and helping her back to her feet.

Evelyn walks over to the set of chairs and takes a seat, smiling weakly when Dexter sits down beside her.

"Richard was my youngest son. He was a pure soul. The baby of the family, in every sense of the word." She begins, her sadness so evident it feels as if it's permeating through the air. "Daniel, my first born, he was a different story. I started to recognize that there was something off about him. He didn't display extremely disturbing behaviors from the start, of course, but as the years went on, things changed, and I just _knew_. A mother's love is meant to be unconditional, Dexter. So I ignored the warning signs. I blinded myself to the red flags. And one morning, because of my failure, my husband and I discovered Richard's body at the bottom of our swimming pool."

"Daniel killed him?" Dexter rhetorically asks.

"Yes." Evelyn nods. "He never admitted to it, of course; but as soon as it happened, my husband and I, we knew what must have happened to our son."

"What did you do to him?" Dexter wonders.

"Nothing good." She answers. "Something that I'll regret for the rest of my life. After my husband and I covered up what Daniel had done to my poor Richard, we sent him away to a psychiatric hospital. He was only fourteen at the time, but there was nothing either of us could do to help our son. It's a terrible feeling, Dexter. Knowing that no matter what you do, it will never be enough."

Vogel pauses the telling of her story, turning away from Dexter for a second so she can collect herself. She turns to face him again without a word, and he notices tears welling up in her eyes. He doesn't acknowledge them, however, electing instead to gesture for her to go on.

"The facility he was in, they did experimental treatments on some of the patients." She says. "They wanted to see if they could find the root of what made the children so troubled."

"The brain. They experimented on their brains?" Dexter asks, knowing that he doesn't even need confirmation from the doctor on that front.

"Yes, I believe so." Vogel continues. "He remained at the facility for three years, until he was seventeen. Until he died. There was a large fire at the hospital, and many of the children there lost their lives. I was led to believe that Daniel was one of them."

"Well, clearly he wasn't." He replies.

"It's been decades, Dexter, and now you show up out of the blue and tell me that my son is alive? What am I supposed to make of this?" She asks, scanning Dexter's face for appeasement.

He doesn't know what to tell her. Her psychopathic son, condemned to a hellish mental institution after committing fratricide decades ago, who was once thought to be dead, is now alive. It's the makings of the plot to a terrible Lifetime movie, but this is no film, it's a person's life. Dexter doesn't have the first clue how to handle this.

"Daniel faked his death." He says. "He's been baiting you all this time. The brain fragments he's been leaving at your door are serving as some sort of sick offering. He's modeling what happened to him at the facility all those years ago, terrorizing you with the sins of the past."

"You have to put a stop to this, Dexter." Dr. Vogel sighs. "You have to find him."

"That's exactly why I'm here, Evelyn." Dexter concurs, reaching over to place a steady hand over the woman's shaky one. "You need to help me track him down."

"I didn't even know he was _alive_ until a couple of minutes ago, Dexter." The doctor scoffs, sliding her hand out from under his. "How do you suppose I know where he's been hiding?"

"I don't." He simply replies. "But we can't just sit around and do nothing. I'm sure you have a photo of Daniel somewhere, can I have it?"

"There are a few on my computer." She answers. "I don't know how they could possibly be of much use to you, he was a child when they were taken."

"Childhood photos of the man who abducted my sister are a lot more than what I had an hour ago. I'll take whatever I can get if it means helping me save her life." Dexter vows.

Evelyn gives him access to her computer, guiding him to the folder that she scanned and uploaded every single photograph of both of her sons to. Dexter selects the clearest photo of Daniel that he can find and then logs into the police database so he can utilize the advanced aging software. He knows that the end result won't be perfect, but if he can have even the slightest idea of what the present-day Daniel Vogel looks like, he'll consider that a victory.

The finished product looks eerily familiar to him, but Dexter is filled with a new sense of dread when he realizes that he simply can't put a name to the face.

He decides to run the modified photo through the DMV records, hoping against hope that he'll end up with a single match.

The scan through the database takes entirely too long, and Dexter finds himself drifting, his mind going places he wishes it never would.

Deb is all that he can think about. He has to get her back. _He has to_.

He has dreamt of losing her more often than he'd like to admit. He's dreamt of cradling her limp form in his arms, of giving her to the sea like he does to all of his victims. He doesn't want to think of Deb as collateral damage, as just another one of his victims, but when it all comes down to it, isn't that exactly what she is? He destroys her more and more each day, but she still stands by him. No, _stood_ by him. He hates to remind himself that it might be past tense now.

He'll save her, he has to. But after she's back in his arms, after the storm clears, where will that leave them? The clouds will return as they always do, casting an inescapable shadow over them both and forcing them back into the same cycle of devastation.

And so it goes. The nightmare of losing the woman that keeps him tethered to his humanity is doomed to repeat steadily in his mind, bringing with it cold sweats and blood curdling screams that wake his son in the middle of the night. His son, the poor sweet boy who never asked to be condemned to the eternal hell that his father has been.

It isn't right. He has to save them both.

A low ping from the speakers in Vogel's laptop temporarily frees Dexter from the prison of his mind, calling him back to action.

"There's a match!" Dexter exclaims. The name that appears on the screen...It's impossible. It's infuriating. It's… "Oliver Saxon!? Your son is Oliver Saxon?"

"It almost doesn't seem real somehow…" Evelyn murmurs, reaching over Dexter's shoulder to trail a finger across the screen. She traces the contours of the man's face delicately, as if her action can somehow bring Daniel back to her. "That's him. That's my son."

"Oliver Saxon…" Dexter mutters in disbelief. "This man was dating my neighbor. He killed her and tried to pin it on Zach. He…he was next door to me the entire time! Next door to my _son_. Keeping tabs on me. On _my sister_."

"Well now you have a face and a name, but how are you possibly going to find Debra?" Vogel questions, her eyes still glued to the monitor.

"I'm going to start by finding any and all properties that he owns around the city. It hasn't been very long, so this could work in my favor. There's a good chance that he hasn't gotten far. I'm going to find her. _I'm going to find her_."

Dexter runs Saxon's name and information through the system, trying to ignore Vogel as she lingers over his shoulder the entire time.

He finds Saxon's primary address, an apartment not too far from Evelyn's house, but quickly rules it out. If this man is so intelligent and calculating that he was able to fake his own death when he was only a teenager, he would never risk being seen dragging Debra through an apartment building that's occupied by at least one hundred people. Especially not during rush hour.

He isn't as intelligent as he _thinks_ he is, however. Oliver Saxon only owns one property in the city of Miami; a foreclosed former doctor's office just on the outskirts of town. If Dexter hurries, he can be there in less than thirty minutes.

After tearing a sheet of paper from one of many notepads on Evelyn's desk and jotting down the address, Dexter leaps from his chair, hurrying past the forlorn doctor on his way to the door.

"Dexter, you need to take a second to think this through." Harry instructs him, the apparition appearing at the worst possible time as per usual. "A foreclosed doctor's office? That sounds like a trap to me. At the very least, you have to be sure that you're ready to face him."

"Of course I'm ready to face him!" Dexter fires back. "He has Deb, there is no such thing as taking a second to think. I've already wasted enough time."

"Dexter? Is everything alright?" Vogel asks, a concerned look painted across her face. "Were you talking to –"

"Of course it isn't." He interrupts, fighting the urge to snap at her for bothering to ask such a stupid question in the first place. "Stay here. Make sure all of the doors are locked just in case he tries to come looking for you. I'll be back soon."

Evelyn stands before him, her eyes downcast and her hands crossed protectively over her chest. "Are you going to kill him?"

"You already know the answer to that question." Dexter sighs.

"So you're going to kill him? The boy that I only just learned was alive mere minutes ago." She assumes, her jaw clenching as she moves to stand between Dexter and the front door.

"He isn't a _boy _anymore, Evelyn. The kid you once knew, your son, he's all grown up now, and he's a _man_. An unhinged man who has my sister and fully intends to murder her and leave fragments of her brain at your doorstep like he did with the rest of his victims. So I'm going to do whatever I have to do to make sure that doesn't happen. If that means killing him, so be it." He declares. "Now please, step away from the door."

"Maybe we can find another solution." She desperately suggests, still standing stubbornly between Dexter and the door. "You could teach him to control his urges and redirect them as you have been able to do so well. You were willing to do that for Zach, why not my son as well? Circumstances have changed, but I still believe that you would make an excellent mentor for budding psychopaths in need of a little guidance."

Dexter once thought a woman of her stature would be much too proud to beg. Clearly he was wrong.

"Circumstances didn't just _change,_ Evelyn. Your son killed Zach with no purpose other than to continue tormenting us. I'm sorry, but he needs more than a little guidance. There's nothing I can do for him. You and Harry were the ones who taught me to take out the trash of our society, not rehabilitate it. Oliver Saxon is no different than every other person that has been on my table." _Except one._ "He deserves to share their fate."

"You're right." Vogel finally realizes. "I may not have to like it, but that doesn't mean it isn't true. Go on, Dexter. Bring Debra home."

"Thank you." Dexter mouths on his way out the door.

He jogs down the steps, tripping over a loosed brick on his way to his car. He hits his head hard against the concrete but immediately gets back up. He won't let a minor fall deter him.

Once he's in the car he pulls out his cell phone, surprised to see that it's just about time for Harrison to be coming home from school. He scrolls through his contacts until he arrives at Jamie's name, tapping the call button.

"Hey, Dexter." She answers, sounding as cheerful as ever. "I'm on my way to pick up Harrison right now. What's up?"

"I was calling about Harrison, actually. Talk about good timing." He laughs.

The action sounds forced to him. Fraudulent, even. But Jamie is none the wiser. It still shocks Dexter sometimes how oblivious other people can be. Everyone but Deb.

"Listen Jamie," Dexter continues. "Something's come up, and I'm pretty slammed at work today, so I'm not going to be home by the time we discussed."

"That's fine, Dexter." She replies, understanding as always. "I'm used to it by now. It just doesn't seem right though, how late they always keep you. I mean, aren't there other blood guys at Miami Metro? I can talk to Angel if you want. He may be my older brother, but he basically does whatever I tell him to, you know."

"No, don't talk to Angel. That isn't necessary. Everything's fine on my end. I left a little extra money out on my desk. If you're up for it, why don't you take Harrison out for dinner and a movie? My treat. I should be back by the time he's ready for bed." Dexter suggests.

"That's very sweet of you, Dexter." Jamie says. "Actually, just between you and me, I've been dying to see the new Despicable Me movie, and Harrison hasn't been able to shut up about it all week."

"Great." Dexter smiles. "I'll be there in spirit. Just make sure he doesn't have any soda. No matter how much he begs. Harrison loves the stuff, but the second he takes a sip it's like a hurricane just hit."

"Thanks for the heads up, Dex. Okay, I'll see you later then. Take as long as you need, you know I love spending time with my favorite little guy." Jamie replies.

"Have fun, and tell Harrison that daddy misses him." Dexter adds before ending the call.

He puts his phone back in his pocket and starts the car. When he goes to adjust his mirrors he catches a glimpse of himself, taking note of the blood flowing slowly from a particularly nasty gash on his forehead that must've been a result of the fall he'd taken.

He knows that he should probably clean and disinfect the wound, but instead he simply wipes away the blood with a few bunched up Kleenexes before peeling out of his parking space and veering back onto the road.

Dexter makes the drive to Saxon's lair in silence. He doesn't need to turn on the radio, he doesn't think that he would be able to hear it anyway. He imagines Debra's high pitched screams, so loud he fears they may deafen him. He sees her tearful eyes, frantically searching for him until they finally flutter closed as she accepts that her big brother is too late. He hears the drill as it buzzes to life, sees the gruesome scene as Saxon plunges his tool into the back of her skull with a deranged grin on his face.

Deb's screams echo through the deepest corners of his mind, gradually becoming more erotic in nature. She moans sweet nothings in his ear, egging him on, urging him to go _deeper_, _faster_, _harder_.

He knows that he shouldn't be thinking about this, that he doesn't deserve to be. Yet still he finds himself recalling the look of euphoria on her face as they came undone together, can still feel the weight of her delicate body on top of his. That small match he'd done his best to get rid of lights a fire in his stomach, bringing with it the guilt of everything he'd left unsaid. He hopes he'll get the chance to finally right that wrong.

After a few more agonizing moments spent lost in his own head, the former doctor's office comes into view. Dexter turns into the back alley, parking a few doors down from the beat-up looking building. He opens the trunk to sift through his tools, settling on two simple butcher knifes; one for Deb and one for himself. He could easily go for something a little more…theatrical, but to him, the knives are perfect. The knives are personal.

Saxon made this personal the second he took Deb away from him. And Dexter wants return the favor. He wants to feel the blood run through his fingers as he plunges the blade into the other man's abdomen. He wants to watch as the last flicker of light fades from his eyes.

With the knives tucked away in his back pockets Dexter walks the short distance to Saxon's hideout. He lets himself in through the back entrance, Harry's words repeating in his mind as the steel door swings open without much provocation.

_That sounds like a trap to me._

Dexter reaches into his pocket for one of the knives, doing his best to banish those thoughts as he carefully makes his way through the empty, darkened basement. When he's sure the coast is clear he starts for the stairs, cringing when the aged wood creaks as soon as he steps foot on it.

Once he makes it to the top of the staircase he cautiously raises the knife, ready to put it to use if necessary. The abandoned waiting room is filled with an unnerving silence, and despite the confidence he displayed earlier at Vogel's, Dexter worries that he could have been wrong about this place. Would Saxon really take Deb somewhere that he could be tracked to?

To his left Dexter sees a wooden door, the only one in the building that appears to actually be closed. He makes his way over to it, hesitantly letting his free hand hover over the knob before taking a deep breath and turning it. The door bangs against the wall as it opens, and Dexter is temporarily blinded by a flood of harsh fluorescent light. He blinks it away, stepping into the room to see what's inside.

He almost doesn't believe it when he sees her.

"Deb!" He shouts, tears welling up in his eyes.

The knife in Dexter's hand falls to the floor but he ignores it, running over to Deb's side.

He takes in the unsettling scene with his mouth agape, mumbling her name again. Still no response.

Deb is laid out on an exam table, the kind that he remembers from uncomfortable visits to the gynecologist with Rita during her pregnancy. His sister is fully clothed but her legs are spread apart, her feet propped up on the stirrups. Her head lolls limply over to one side, and her lips are puckered the way he's noticed they sometimes are when she's asleep. Her arms are bound above her head with a zip tie, her wrists colored red with irritation.

He notices other red marks across her face where Saxon must have struck her, drawing out a strangled cry from the back of his throat.

Dexter places a hand on her cheek, tenderly rubbing the sore skin with his thumb.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Deb." He whispers, reaching into his back pocket for the knife so he can free her from her restraints.

"Ah, brother. I knew you would find us." A strident voice taunts from behind him.

"I'm not your fucking brother, Daniel." Dexter growls, turning around so he can come face to face with the man. "Oh, excuse me. I believe it's Oliver now."

"I must admit, for a while there I was starting to think you wouldn't bother showing up at all. I guess she _is_ as important to you as I'd hoped." Saxon smiles. "Good."

"What did you do to her?" Dexter asks, pulling the knife completely out his pocket. He clutches the weapon firmly behind his back, his grip so strong that his knuckles begin to go white with the pressure.

"Don't worry, she isn't dead." Saxon says. "Not yet, anyway. How did you like my present?"

"I don't have time for this." Dexter replies. "I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going to bring my sister home."

He reveals his knife, holding it near Oliver's neck. He swipes it across his skin, managing to inflict only a minor flesh wound before the other man grips his forearm, temporarily restricting his movement.

Saxon twists Dexter's arm away, displaying a surprising amount of strength and agility that catches Dexter off guard. He walked into this situation thinking he had at least _some_ advantage over Evelyn's psychotic son. For the sake of him and Deb both, Dexter hopes he wasn't wrong about that.

The demented man raises his free arm, brandishing a small kitchen knife. Before Dexter even has time to try fending him off, Saxon buries the knife deep in his side.

Dexter cries out, sinking down the cool linoleum floor. Saxon stands directly above him, casting an all-encompassing shadow over him. A teasing smirk washes over the man's face as he watches Dexter bring a hand to his side, attempting to limit the potential blood loss.

"I only wanted to talk, Dexter." He says. "But you've just made things a whole lot worse for yourself."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey, I've missed you guys! Finals week has been kicking my ass so it felt nice to sit down and write about my two favorite train wrecks again lol. This one is the longest chapter yet and it kind of went in a different direction than I originally had planned, but I think it turned out well (hopefully :P) I was planning on making this five chapters in total, but now I'm not so sure. If I'm being completely honest, I don't really have a specific end in mind so I'll have to see where this takes me...**

**Also, I was never a fan of Saxon as the big bad so if the confrontation feels kind of underwhelming, I apologize. I just don't have much interest in the guy, and I would much rather focus on Dexter and Deb, people who actually matter.**

**Lady D, thanks so much for your kind words, I'm so happy to hear that you're hooked! I hope you dig this chapter. Shadow, thanks a lot for your comment, even if it is the same every time. I appreciate it more than words could say :) Tom, the fact that you always leave me such long, nice reviews always makes me smile. I'm so glad that you're finding this suspenseful, because I was worried that I was shit at writing suspenseful and action-y scenes (I know action-y isn't a word but we're going to ignore that! haha) Also your comment about having Miami Metro on Dexter's tail backing the writer into corners is so spot on. A part of me wanted Dexter to get found out on the show because it felt cheap that just about every person who knew his secret conveniently ended up dead, but writing about that in my first fic was really difficult, which is why I actually think this one is a lot better despite the dramatic difference in length between the two. I'm going to do my best to redeem Dex in Deb's eyes buuut of course I have to have some angst along the way so here's your warning ;)**

**Reviews make me do a little happy dance xo**

* * *

"D-Dex?" A small voice timidly calls out to him from somewhere in the blackness.

He doesn't bother to reply. He knows what this is. She's been doing it for a while now. Tonight would be the third time this week.

Dexter climbs out of bed and gets down on his hands and knees with a sigh, feeling around the carpeted floor until he makes contact with the teenage girl's bony ankle. He slides his hands up the length of her slender legs until he reaches her middle, bringing his hands around to her back and easily scooping her up into his arms.

He lays his little sister down on the right side of his bed, the side furthest away from the door. It's a habit that he has refused to break since the first time she'd snuck into his room a few years back. Mostly he chalks it up to her pervasive pattern of falling off the left side of the bed that existed throughout her childhood, but he knows that isn't really why he really does it. The real reason is that Dexter feels like he has to protect the girl.

Harry had instilled a sense of responsibility in Dexter since he was old enough to be considered his sister's keeper. Now, with Harry gone, protecting Deb is more important than ever. Just in case an intruder decides to come barging through that door, Dexter knows he'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

He reaches over to the lamp seated on the top of his bedside table, turning it on and filling the room with a dim light before climbing back into bed beside Debra.

"Was it another bad dream?" He asks, wrapping his arms protectively around Deb's slight waist.

"Yeah," she shakily replies.

Dexter can't see her face, but he knows that her jaw is clenched. It's a defense mechanism that he's grown quite accustomed to Deb doing whenever she's trying to put on a brave face. Whenever she's trying not to cry.

He can tell from the hitch in Debra's voice that she has indeed been crying, and although he'd never claim to know the first thing about making someone feel better, he's willing to try for her.

"I don't want to sound like a baby or anything," his sister continues on. "The nightmares have been getting worse these past few days, though. Sometimes I'm scared they won't ever stop. Do you feel that way too, Dex?"

"I don't have nightmares, Deb." He answers. "I sleep like the dead. I think I'm so far gone most nights that I like…transcend nightmares or something."

Dexter cringes at his stupid lie, but Deb giggles, and that's nice. Maybe he isn't so bad at this whole comforting thing after all.

"Bullshit. You are the lightest sleeper in the entire fucking universe, Dex. I'm pretty sure a feather landing on top of our neighbor's roof would wake you up." She laughs.

Deb backs up until it is no longer humanly possible to come any closer, brushing her face across Dexter's bicep like a kitten trying to coax someone into petting it.

For a second he considers pulling away. The feeling of Deb's slick skin – barely covered thanks to the thin tank top and shorts she's elected to sleep in – pressed flush against his bare chest makes him shiver despite the sweltering heat typical of a late summer in Miami.

It feels wrong somehow, exposing himself to her in this way. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it shouldn't. They're family. It should be fine…normal, even. Still, he thinks he would feel slightly more comfortable with the situation if he were sleeping in something other than a pair of boxer shorts.

He shifts a little, tries his best to shrug her off without being overly rude about it, but Deb reaches down and places one hand over his before he has the chance to move, latching onto him.

"No, don't go." She whimpers. "Please don't leave me, Dexter."

"I'd never leave you." He answers as he relaxes himself behind her once again and tightens his arms around her waist.

"You promise?" She sniffles, turning around to meet his gaze. "Dad never promised."

"Deb, Harry would have never willingly left you. You were the most important person in the world to him." Dexter replies. "I'm sure he would have wanted you to know that."

"Yeah? Well, it would've been nice to hear that cutesy Hallmark card shit coming out of _his_ mouth every once and a while too, you know?" She asks, pressing her lips together into a tight scowl. "It shouldn't be your responsibility to pass on my dead dad's true feelings. Loving me was supposed to be _his_ job."

"Harry wasn't the best at showing affection, but I don't think you should doubt how much he loved you." Dexter says. "I'm sure he's looking down on you right now and –"

"Pssh, since when did you get all religious?" She interrupts. "Looking down on me from heaven? Really?"

"Uh, I just thought that might've been something you needed to hear is all." Dexter replies, hoping that will be the end of it.

She rolls her eyes. Okay, so that was clearly _not_ the end of it.

"I don't need you sugar coating anything for me right now, Dexter." Deb mutters. "It's a nice thought I guess. But even if it were true, it doesn't matter now. _He_ doesn't matter now."

The hard expression tearing through her normally soft features betrays her words. If Dexter has learned anything over the years, it's that Debra is a terrible liar. No matter how much she has always tried to convince him of the exact opposite.

He knows that she could never mean it, all of the terrible things she's said about Harry since he passed away over a month ago. But he decides to play along for her sake. He wants to give her what she needs. Once Dexter catches her eyes searching his for some sort of consolation he nods in agreement, gives her hand a little squeeze.

"You're all I've got now." She adds with a weak smile. "We have to look out for each other from now on. It's just you and me, Dex."

"I care about you, Deb. I'd never let anything happen to you. I don't know what I'd do without you." Dexter answers, surprising himself by how much he genuinely meant what he said.

"I fucking love you, Dex." She says, turning away from him to lay her head on top of the spare pillow with a yawn.

"Yeah…yeah. Me too." Dexter replies.

He wishes he could say those words back to her, but it isn't that simple. He can never seem to give her what she really needs.

Love is a dangerous game, one that he should never play. Not just for his own sake, but for hers even more so.

Dexter lays his head down on his own pillow, turning to face his sister. He stares at the back of her head, watches as her breathing evens out once she seems to finally be dozing off.

He's just about to reach over and shut off the lamp when she suddenly turns back around to face him.

"Hey, Dex?" She breathes.

"Yeah, Deb, what is it?" He asks, propping his head up in one hand.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about the future these past few months. I'm seventeen now, so I guess it's time to get serious about that type of thing," she says, stopping to nervously pick at a hang nail before continuing. "I'm going do it, Dex. I'm really going to do it."

"Do what?" He wonders, gently wrapping a hand around hers so she can quit picking at that nail. It's a disgusting habit.

"I'm going to join the Academy, bro. I'm going to be a cop!" She exclaims.

"Deb…you-you've got plenty of time to decide. Are you sure that rushing into this thing is such a good idea?" Dexter questions.

Watching the goofy smile abruptly vanish from his sister's face doesn't make him happy, but neither does her wanting to be a cop. It's a hazardous profession, and although he doesn't doubt that she is perfectly capable of handling herself in dangerous situations, the idea of Deb hunting killers, people like _him_, puts him on edge.

"What do you mean, is it a good idea?" Deb challenges. "It's the _only_ idea! I'm starting to think that becoming a cop is what I was always supposed to do. Just imagine it, Dex. You doing whatever forensics stuff it is that you do while I pound the pavement and bring down the bad guys. Debra and Dexter Morgan: single-handedly cleaning up the streets of Miami. Sounds great, doesn't it?"

It does. Just not in the way she thinks.

"That does sound great, Deb. But I just want you to be sure that you're making the right decision here." He says.

"Quit worrying, I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like I'm going to become a cop overnight. It'll take years, Dexter. I'll have plenty of time to change my mind if I want to…which I _won't_, but still." She smiles.

"I guess you're right." Dexter sighs.

"Always am." Deb laughs, giving him a playful shove.

The childlike innocence slowly fades from her eyes, replaced with a silent thoughtfulness that Dexter isn't used to.

"You know, someday, you're going to have to stop worrying about me so much." She adds softly.

"Not likely."

* * *

Dexter blinks away the blurriness from behind his eyes _once, twice_, reaching down to his side to properly survey his situation.

He feels that familiar sticky warmth oozing through his fingers, marking them a deep shade of red. His actual blood loss is minimal, though, thanks to Saxon's apparent lack of experience with any weapon that isn't a hacksaw.

Although the knife isn't buried very deep, Dexter knows that he shouldn't take it out until he has the proper sanitary means to deal with the injury. He still doesn't know exactly what to expect from this confrontation with Saxon, but what he _does_ know is that he can't protect his sister if he's stumbling around with a gaping stab wound that will inevitably become infected.

"We're not so different, you and I." Saxon says in his peculiar drawl.

"So you're going that route?" Dexter asks, sitting up on his knees so he can brace himself to eventually get back on his feet. "The cliché, menacing supervillain speech? Really? I have to say, I expected better from you, Saxon. I thought you were going to be different than the rest."

"Go on…" The man insists, a ghost of a smile tugging at his thin lips.

So Saxon doesn't lack for hubris. Dexter hopes he can use that to his advantage somehow.

"Clearly you're more than just an average killer. You're different from the scum that tends to lurk the streets of this city. What you do…it's art. I could stand to learn a thing or two from you." Dexter says, slightly disgusted with himself for even bothering to stroke this lunatic's ego. "Anyone that can pull off faking their own death as a teenager has my utmost respect."

"Ah, so you've been looking into me, Dexter? I may have picked up a few things in my research about you, as well." Saxon teases, extending a hand to the wounded man.

Dexter ignores his gesture, lifting himself off of the floor on his own after discretely pocketing his knife.

"Good things, I hope." He answers with a mock smile.

"Oh, nothing but. My mother seems to think very highly of you. It's a shame she couldn't show a little bit of that kindness to me when I was growing up, though. The woman was cruel. She had a way of letting me know what a disappointment I was without saying so much as a word." Saxon recalls.

"I'm sure that's all water under the bridge, now." Dexter replies. "I think it's time that you and your mother left the past in the past."

"Speaking of my mother, you've been spending a great deal of time with her. Haven't you, Dex?" He alleges. "It's almost as if you've been trying to take my place. I can't say that I blame you, though. It's a shame, what happened to your mother. You were only a boy. It must have been tough growing up without that love in your life. It's natural to seek it out from other places, and mother can be quite a good listener when she actually feels like it. I'm sure you have plenty to tell her."

"Jesus Christ, does this guy ever shut the fuck up?" Deb interrupts, her words mumbled and somewhat slurred as she gradually regains consciousness.

Just hearing that voice again, Dexter doesn't think he could be any happier…ignoring that fact that a kitchen knife is currently lodged in the side of his lower abdomen, of course.

He nonchalantly kicks the knife he'd dropped when he first arrived as close to his sister as possible, hoping that she can free herself from her restraints fast enough to pick it up.

"Oh, you're awake!" Saxon announces. "It took you long enough."

"Well the shit you injected me with didn't help. I just hope you used a clean needle. I wouldn't want to catch anything." Deb answers, flashing the man a smile that's all venom.

This is nowhere near the time or the place for comedy, but Dexter can't fight the urge to laugh. The obnoxious sound he makes is met with an equally obnoxious glare from Deb that he definitely deserves.

Suddenly, she rolls over to her left, dropping down to the hard linoleum with a thud.

"Deb, the knife!" Dexter shouts, pointing to the corner where it sits.

She lunges for the weapon, coming close but still not within reach as Saxon throws himself at her. He falls down to the floor, landing on top of her. He wraps one hand around her throat and tugs at her hair with the other, making her cry out in pain.

Dexter flings himself at the man, grabbing him by the shoulders and prying him away from Deb's as she starts to violently cough.

Dexter wants to run to her, to make sure that she's alright, but he can't let his guard down around a man with nothing but murder on the brain.

Luckily, Saxon gives up on Debra fairly quickly once he's met with his most desired prey. He sets his sights on Dexter, an unmistakable glint of intent flickering in his eyes that are all but vacant otherwise. Dexter wonders if that's what Deb sees when she looks at him.

Saxon flashes him an ominous open mouth smile and reaches out to punch him, but Dexter ducks before the man's fist has a chance to connect with his face. He follows up Saxon's attempt with one of his own, and unlike Saxon, Dexter is actually successful. He punches the man again and then a third time after that, feeling the hot rage boil up inside of him as it threatens to reach catastrophic levels.

"I don't want to hurt you, Dexter. I actually think we'd get along quite well. In slightly different circumstances, of course." Saxon says, wiping away the string of blood that has begun to leak from his nose.

His voice isn't missing any of its usual nauseating charm, and that just serves to upset Dexter even more. He knees the man in the groin, eliciting a sinister laugh from Saxon that would give any moustache twirling cartoon villain a run for his money.

"I don't think you're in any position to hurt anyone right now, _Daniel_." Dexter hisses.

"Oh? Well in that case, ask me what I did to her…" Saxon whispers, the words dripping from his mouth like a slow burning acid.

"_What did you do to her?_" Dexter asks through gritted teeth, gripping up the man by the front of his t-shirt. "What are you trying to say, you fucking psychopath?"

"It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" He smirks.

Dexter knows that Saxon is just trying to get him riled up and that he shouldn't play into any of his scare tactics, but he can't bear to think that this menace hurt Deb somehow. That would mean he failed her, and that's something that he just cannot accept.

He'd noticed red marks on her face when he'd first arrived, and he'd written them off as a result of a few slaps to the face. That worthless piece of shit putting his hands on Deb makes Dexter want to kill him no matter how you slice it; but believing that it didn't go any further than that at least allowed him to keep a level head through this so far. But what if it _did_ go further?

Did Saxon have Deb spread out on that exam table just to psych Dexter out, or was there something more sinister at play?

He couldn't have possibly…

"No." Dexter says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Sooner or later you're going to have to accept it. You can't be a killer and a good guy. It's an oxymoron, Dexter. And even if it wasn't, it wouldn't matter. Not when being a bad guy is so much fun." Saxon insists. "You know it, I know it, and now _she_ knows it, too."

Saxon's words cut Dexter's flesh like knives, so similar to the ones that his brother said to him a few long years ago in a situation that didn't differ much than this one. It's true what they say, about history repeating itself.

He reaches into his back pocket for his knife, ready to silence Saxon once and for all; but Deb appears behind the man before Dexter has the chance to react.

She raises the knife in one of her newly freed hands, wrapping her arm around his neck before slitting his throat in one swift motion. The cut is deep but not deep enough, severing his windpipe but not outright killing him.

Blood, red hot, spurts onto Dexter's face until Saxon collapses to the floor, clutching at his throat in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

The ugly sound of his desperate wheezing fills the air as he tries to take a few breaths; a relatively impossible feat considering his current predicament.

It is going to be a long, agonizing death. If the carotid artery had been severed then things would be different. He'd probably be out in seconds, rendered unconscious thanks to the rapid loss of blood. It would be gushing out faster than water from a broken fountain. A severed carotid artery is without a doubt a messy way to go but a welcome one, given his other options. Saxon would bleed out within a few short minutes, he wouldn't be forced to watch as the very people he brought here to kill stood over his body, writhing pathetically in a pool of his own blood.

Dexter briefly considers ending his suffering with a knife to the heart but decides against it just as quickly. The man got what he deserved, and he can't bring himself to feel sorry for him.

Deb drops the knife to the ground with a look in her eyes that Dexter can't quite decipher. Saxon is the third person that Deb has killed in less than a year's time, and Dexter cannot even begin to contemplate what that means for her. She did what she thought she had to do, but the same could be said of her fateful decision on New Year's Eve, and he'll never forget how that turned out. Dexter doesn't think he can handle another downward spiral. More importantly, he doesn't think that _she _can handle another one, either.

Deb moves to stand by the door, as far away from Saxon's convulsing body as possible. Dexter picks up the knife she'd used and puts it in his pocket, stopping for a second to wipe down the exam table that Deb had been tied down on. He doubts that there will be any detectable prints and he doubts even more that someone will even be looking for prints in the first place, but hey, better safe than sorry.

Once he's satisfied he joins Deb by the doorway, wrapping an arm around her waist as the two of them leave the room.

The sound of Saxon's cries chase them out of the door, echoing in Dexter's ears until he's a few feet away from his car with Debra tucked safely at his side.

As soon as they make it to the car Deb shoves him off, starting towards the opposite side of the vehicle.

She's angry, and she has every right to be. But she'll come around soon…right?

_We're not so different, you and I_.

Saxon's words replay in his mind over and over again, taunting him like a broken record he's helpless to fix.

He's knows that what he said isn't true, after all, the man didn't even know him; but he can't shake the feeling that just maybe, Deb may see things that way, too. The woman he'd depended on all his life viewing him in the same vein as Oliver Saxon would be a fate worse than death. He can't even begin to think of that.

"Deb, talk to me!" Dexter shouts, grabbing her by the arm before she has the chance to open the passenger's side door. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling like I could use a fucking drink right now, if this is me being honest." She snorts derisively.

"I think I remember passing a bar on the way over here…"

"Dexter, you can't be fucking serious." She says, staring so hard that Dexter swears she could burn a hole between his eyes that would rival the one at his side. "What the fuck happened to your head?"

"Sorry, Deb. Jesus. I was just trying to help." Dexter replies as he unlocks the driver's side door. "My head…it's nothing. I tripped on my way over here but –"

Suddenly he feels a sharp, throbbing pain at his side and reaches down to feel the knife still buried stubbornly in his flesh. Deb's breath catches when she notices the protruding handle, her concern overpowering her anger if only for a moment.

She races over to him with tears welling up in her eyes. "Dexter, oh God no, he stabbed you…"

Her voice is shaky as the first few tears begin to fall from her eyes. She reaches out a hesitant hand as if to touch him but quickly thinks better of it, confining her hands to the pockets of her jeans.

"It's not as bad as it looks, honest. I've got a first aid kit in the trunk, I can patch it right up no problem." Dexter says, trying his best to soothe her.

"Bullshit." Deb states, taking her hands out of her pockets to hastily rub at her eyes until the tears are gone. "You have to get that knife out, and I'm not going to risk you fucking it up and killing yourself. I don't need your blood on my hands too. I've got enough as it is."

"This isn't the first time I've been hurt, Deb. I told you, I can handle it myself."

"No," she protests, shaking her head from side to side. "No, I won't let you do that."

"So what do you want me to do then? Go to a hospital? I'll have to tell the doctors how I ended up with a knife in my side and that's not something that I can easily explain away." Dexter argues.

"I'll come with you. I'll tell them that we were cooking and I accidentally stabbed you or something." She suggests.

"You can't just accidentally stab someone in the side while cutting steaks, Debra. Besides, a wound like this had to have been intentionally inflicted. The doctors will realize that it was no accident no matter what lies we try to feed them. They'll be forced report it to the police, who will look into what really happened. Once Saxon's body is found, it'll be no coincidence in the minds of the police that a man ended up with his throat slashed the same day I showed up to the hospital with a knife wound to the side. We can't have any unnecessary attention placed on us."

"Dexter, this is _Miami_. You of all people should know that there's no shortage of violent crime here. It could be work."

"Or it couldn't."

"You're too paranoid for your own good." Deb scoffs. Dexter swears he sees the beginnings of a smile in there, too.

"I'm cautious, not paranoid. And it _is_ for my own good. Yours too. Always has been."

Deb's eyes drop to the ground, a hint of rosiness creeping up onto the apples of her cheeks. A sense of calm is in the air, lingering between their shared silence, neither one daring to acknowledge the sudden shift in mood. It's almost too good to be true.

Dexter doesn't want to ruin the moment, but he'd been so focused on himself that he didn't really make sure that Deb was okay.

"Come here." He says as he grabs her by the chin to guide her face towards his, staring into her eyes like a doctor would during a routine physical. "You said that Saxon injected you with something, right? I know I just said no hospitals, but we can't be sure that it wasn't something toxic until we get someone to run some tests."

"I'm pretty sure it was the same shit you use. You know, the shit you injected _me_ with last night." She bitterly replies, freeing herself from his hold.

Okay, so it was too good to be true. Fair enough. He opts to change the subject, knowing that if he acknowledges what she said it'll lead to a whole new argument that he isn't ready to have right now.

"I'm going to need help getting the knife out and disinfecting the wound. I know you aren't a fan of me right now but could you at least help me with that, then? Since you said no hospitals..." He adds.

Deb nods, lightly pushing Dexter aside so she can take the driver's seat.

"Deb, I can –"

"Like hell you can." She replies. "I'm not about to risk you running us off the road."

Dexter considers cracking a joke about her deciding to do just that a little over a month ago but makes the wise choice and keeps his mouth shut, sliding into the passenger's seat beside her.

"No, go lay down in the back. It'll be more comfortable that way, maybe even help recirculate the blood flow or some shit." She orders.

He does as he's told, stretching out across the two back seats as Deb pulls out of the parking space.

"By the way, Deb, we have to go to your house, not mine. Harrison and Jamie were supposed to go out but I don't want to run into them just in case they get back early." Dexter says.

"Alright. I've gotta tell you, though, I don't know how sanitary my place is. I haven't cleaned up since, well, you know. And I…"

All at once Dexter is drifting, floating as the sweet sound of Deb's voice lulls him to sleep. Talk of her dirty living space and confusion over how to work the GPS melt away, replaced with the sound of her blood curdling screams.

He's immersed in the blackness, and although he can hear her he can't see her.

"Deb!" He calls, reaching out his hands to feel around the walls until he finds a switch and flips it, suddenly igniting the room with a harsh incandescent light.

"Your sister isn't here anymore." Deb replies, emerging from a far off corner.

She certainly _looks_ like Deb, and sounds like her too. But this iteration of the woman he's spent his entire life with doesn't fail to send a nervous shiver up his spine.

She cradles a knife in her hands, the very same one that she'd used to slit Saxon's throat so gracefully. She has on a plastic apron that is identical to the one Dexter himself wears, except there is absolutely nothing underneath to cover her tanned skin. Her hair cascades down her back in loose waves with the exception of one moveable strand, stuck to her plump lips thanks to the gloss expertly applied them. Dexter aches to move it back in place.

The mere sight of her sends a flush straight to his groin, betraying all that he once knew was right.

"But didn't you already do that?" She asks, poking out her lips in a manner that's just as seductive as it is teasing. "It's time to stop kidding yourself, Dexter."

Deb gestures for him to follow her and he obeys as if hypnotized. His feet move of their own accord, his eyes glued to her bare back.

He follows her into a different room, one that is all too familiar to him. It's one big empty space, with the exception of a single table that sits directly in the middle. Dexter looks away, because he can't bear to see what, or rather _who_, is at the center of it all. He knows who. It can't be. _It can't_. But he knows.

Deb comes up behind him – _wasn't she just in front of him?_ – and forces the knife into his hands. He doesn't want to take it, but of course, he does. He can't deny her offering to him.

She wraps her arms around his waist and puts her lips to his neck, pressing warm, sticky kisses to the sensitive skin.

"Open your eyes." She coos.

Of course, he does.

Just as he'd expected, Deb's own worried eyes are what he finds staring back at him. But this Deb is as she was before. She's younger and still has that air of innocence that helped define her before she became touched by his darkness. She's beautiful, striking even in her vulnerability. Dexter doesn't want to hurt her.

She tries to call out to him but the tape across her mouth makes that impossible. His heart beats for the girl before him but it does the same for the woman with her hands around his waist, owning him now as she always has.

"We have to do it, Dexter." She says. "Together, now."

He feels her smoothing her hands across his stomach and up the length of his arms, wrapping them around the knife that he cups unsteadily in his hands.

They raise the knife into the air, _together_, aiming it at Deb's chest before bringing it back down, piercing her heart in one swift motion.

"This is how it's going to be from now on." She declares.

The sickly sweet smell of blood overtakes him as the rich shade of crimson stains their joined hands.

"It's just you and me, Dex."

* * *

"Deb!"

He wakes with a start, shouting her name like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

"Jesus! Dexter, what is it?" Deb asks, pressing down hard on the horn in surprise.

The car behind her honks in retaliation, suddenly deciding to speed up and cut in front of her. It's a careless move, but luckily no one gets hurt.

"Up yours, asshole!" Deb yells, sticking her arm out the window with her middle finger held high.

"Sorry, Deb." Dexter cringes.

"Whatever. We're almost there, just a few more minutes." She replies.

Dexter lifts himself up as much as he can without disturbing the knife, observing his sister as she drives.

She looks normal, except for the dry blood on her hands. Saxon's blood, thankfully not her own.

He blinks away the sleep from his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, gradually coming back to his senses. It was just a nightmare, that's all.

He considers broaching the subject with Deb, though he's sure that a fucked up fantasy involving a new, twisted version of her goading Dexter into killing the innocent Deb of the past wouldn't make such good conversation. Especially not while he's still trying to get back on her good side.

Deb parks the car in her usual space, rushing over to give Dexter a hand once she turns off the car. He shrugs her off, walking on his own over to the trunk so he can get his first aid kit. With the kit in hand he follows behind Deb as she leads the way to her bungalow, unlocking the door with a sigh.

Plastic wrap litters the floor where he'd left it. Deb trudges through it without a word, and Dexter follows. A part of him wants to quit being a coward and finally acknowledge the terribly huge elephant in the room, but ignoring it seems like a more attractive option for now, considering Deb is still on the warpath.

"You can lay down on the table if you want." Deb suggests.

Dexter catches a hint of mockery in her voice as she points at the table he'd…had her on.

"I'm going to go get a couple of towels. Wait here." She says, walking off towards the bathroom with a suggestive sway of her hips.

Is she really teasing him? _Now_? Or is he just seeing things that aren't real?

Dexter lays down on the table, taking the chance to re-examine how deep the knife is before Deb gets back. It isn't nearly as bad as it could be. With help from Deb, he should be able to remove the knife and disinfect the wound with little trouble at all.

Deb returns with two white towels in hand, sitting them by his head as she reaches for the handle of the knife.

"No, not yet." Dexter says, covering her hand with his. "Take off my shirt so we can get a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Deb groans as she starts to unbutton the shirt. "I don't know why you couldn't have done this yourself, to be honest."

With his shirt completely unbuttoned she tears away at the fabric that surrounds the knife, studying the damage.

"Oh, okay, well I guess it isn't that bad." She tells herself.

"You're right, it isn't." He smiles. "Now, I'm going to need you to pull the knife out, _slowly_."

"Jesus fuck." Deb mumbles. "Jesus _fuck_. I can't do that, Dexter. What if I fucking kill you?"

"It isn't that deep, Deb. You're not going to hurt me. Just make sure you go slowly at first. If it starts to bleed a lot, then you stop. Okay?" He assures her.

"Okay." She nods, wrapping both hands firmly around the handle of the knife.

She starts to tug at it, so slowly at first that it doesn't move at all. After a few deep breaths she continues on, pulling at it with a new sense of urgency.

"Slowly." Dexter reminds her. "Steady."

She repeats his words as she pulls, and after a few more tense moments, the knife is finally out.

"You did great, Deb." Dexter says.

"It's bleeding," she replies, worry written across her forehead in tight lines. "How do I stop it?"

Dexter looks at the wound, deduces that it's only a slight trickling of blood that shouldn't be cause for alarm.

Deb reaches for one of the towels and goes to press it to the wound. Dexter reaches out and wraps his hand around her wrist before the towel has the chance to make contact.

"I don't know where that's been…no offense." He adds when Deb shoots him one of her signature death glares. "We have to clean out the wound first, there's a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide in my kit."

"You just said _we_ but honestly it's starting to sound a lot more like _me_." Deb scoffs, retrieving the Peroxide.

She opens the bottle and pours a generous amount of the liquid into the gaping wound without even a hint of warning.

"Ah, fuck, _Deb_!" Dexter shouts, gritting his teeth together in pain.

"Oh I'm sorry, does that sting?" She teases, screwing the lid back onto the bottle. "It'll stop fizzing in a second, don't worry."

After the pain dies down Dexter gets off of the table, leaning on Debra as the two of them make their way over to the bathroom. She has his kit in one hand and his arm in the other, using her foot to kick open the bathroom door.

Deb gestures for Dexter to sit down on the toilet as she stands at the sink and washes her hands. Once she's finished she reaches into the cabinet for a clean towel. She crouches down beside him and begins to softly dab at the affected area, nicely contradicting the viciousness she displayed a few minutes ago.

"Okay, is that good?" She asks.

"Yeah, there's just one more thing…I need you to help me sew it up." Dexter answers.

"Dex, Mom died when I was twelve. You do know that I never learned how to do any of that Susie Homemaker shit, right?" She sighs. "I mean, I had some basic first aid training when I was in the Academy, but I don't think –"

"I'll walk you through it, just like I did with removing the knife. It's going to be fine, I promise." Dexter says. "Everything you're going to need is in my kit. Make sure to sterilize it all first, though. That's really important."

"You know," Deb begins, digging through his kit for the proper materials. "I think I've finally found my true calling. After this, I should go back to school, become a big hot shot surgeon. That's where all the money is, right?"

She returns to his side with the entire kit in hand, evidently having given up on finding the right stuff on her own. He picks out a suture needle, a pair of medical scissors, and of course, the non-absorbable thread that she's going to need to stitch him up.

Deb washes off the tools with soap and water, and then soaks them in some rubbing alcohol for half a minute to ensure that they have been properly sterilized. After that, she puts on a pair of latex gloves and nods at her brother, giving him the okay to begin explaining the next step.

"Okay, first you're going to have to prepare the edges of the wound. Do you see any loose flesh surrounding it?" Dexter asks.

"Yes…I mean, no? Dexter, I have no idea what your definition of loose is. Fucking hell…this isn't going to work."

"You know, flesh that looks jagged, or like it's hanging, even. Leaving that there is going to increase the probability of the wound becoming infected. You'll have to cut that flesh down with the scissors, if there's any there at all."

"God no. There's no way that I'm going to cut you." She says, stubbornly shaking her head from side to side. "There isn't any of that shit, okay? What do I do next?"

Dexter trusts her judgement but also recognizes how frightened she is so he decides to examine the situation for himself. He carefully sits up, craning his neck so he can get a good view of his injury.

"You're right, Deb," he smiles. "There isn't any lose flesh, so all you have to do is sew it up."

"Oh? Is that all? Well in that case, what a relief." She deadpans.

Deb puts the thread through the needle and gets down on her knees to be at eye level with the area in need of stitching.

"Just be sure to take your time. The first puncture is the worst, you'll get the hang of it after that." Dexter says.

There's a sharp intake of breath before he feels the needle starting to pierce his skin. Deb finds her rhythm with the needle and thread soon enough, so Dexter closes his eyes and waits for her to finish.

"I- I think I'm done." She declares after a few minutes, cutting off the excess thread with the medical scissors.

Dexter stands to take a look at the stitches. They aren't flaw free of course, but they should hold up well enough to prevent infection. Deb takes out a gauze from her medicine cabinet and wraps it around his midsection, her eyes darting any and everywhere to avoid meeting his.

"Thanks, Deb." He says when she finishes.

He follows her to her bedroom where she presents him with one of his old T-shirts that she just so happened to still have kept lying around.

Deb silently heads back out into the living room and Dexter follows close behind. They both take a seat on the couch, the tension so thick it could be cut with the knife Deb just got done removing from Dexter's side.

"Deb, did Saxon…" He hesitates, folding and then unfolding his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to make this any easier but I have to ask. Did he –"

"Did he what? Use me the way you used me?" Deb asks, crossing her arms defiantly over her heaving chest.

Dexter's mouth falls open, the pure shock he feels visible across every inch of his face. "Deb…are you…? You aren't seriously trying to say that I _raped you_, are you?"

"No, Dexter. Of course that's not what I'm saying." She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in disgust. "But are you really going to sit here and tell me that if that _was_ what I was saying, I wouldn't have a right to feel that way? All you do is use me. Take advantage of me. It's like you get off on hurting me, and for some reason I just can't stop coming back for more. Sometimes I even wonder if deep down, I might like it. It's like I'm addicted to it. I was right before. I _am_ more fucked up than you are. You're a sadistic fuck and apparently I'm no better."

A bitter laugh escapes her lips as she makes her revelation, leaving Dexter speechless. He doesn't think he can ever find the words to make this okay again.

"Deb, please, I –"

"NO. I don't want to fucking talk about this anymore. I'm done!" She screams, standing up from the couch and plopping down on the chair opposite from him. "Jesus, Dexter. How can you be so frustratingly stupid sometimes?"

Her sudden redirect of the conversation throws Dexter for a loop but he decides to roll with it. If putting him down can make Deb finally stop beating herself up for his mistakes then he'd consider that a victory in and of itself. He would gladly get down on his hands and knees and take whatever it is she's willing to throw his way. He's earned it, after all.

"You make me stupid sometimes." Dexter replies. A thoughtless slip of the tongue that was undoubtedly better left unsaid judging by Deb's acrid response. The veins in her neck become painfully visible as she balls her hands up into fists. If steam suddenly started rising from her ears, Dexter wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

"You managed to thwart me all this time and I fucking lived with you for _years_, Dexter. I thought I knew you better than I knew myself." She hisses. "Before Doakes was caught – no, before he was _framed_ – people talked about you like you were some legend. You had our entire department fooled. They're good cops, Dexter. Good people. I used to think that you were some sort of criminal mastermind. I mean, you _had_ to be, right? But it turns out you're nothing but a disappointment. You're a fucking idiot, Dex. So what does that make _me_? What's worse than an idiot?"

Deb holds her head in her hands before Dexter has the chance to see any tears fall, but as he listens to her choked sobs, he thinks that may be worse than seeing.

She lifts her head to reveal mascara stained cheeks and blood shot eyes. "How could I have been so wrong about you?"

"You've just been through another traumatic experience on top of all of the other shit you're dealing with. Taking your frustrations out on yourself isn't going to make you feel any better, and I can't bear to see you hurt, Deb. Curse me, bruise me, tear me down, _fine_, I'll take it because it's what I deserve. But you? You don't deserve any of this. You aren't stupid. Far from it." Dexter says, getting up to stand over her.

"Yeah? Well I _feel_ stupid." Deb replies, getting out of her chair to meet him almost face to face. "Why does it have to be like this, Dex? I don't know what to do anymore. I never wanted any of this. I feel like I'm…drifting."

She slowly backs away from him as the sobs begin again, wrapping her arms protectively around her middle in a lonesome hug.

Dexter wants nothing more than to be near her again, to replace her arms with his own. He has no right to even breathe the same air as her after all he's done but that doesn't silence that still small voice telling him to go to her.

Whispers from the part of him he'd always meant to keep locked away turn to screams as they rise like bile in the back of his throat, demanding to be silenced no more. He opened Pandora's Box last night with Deb, and it was foolish to ever believe that things could ever return to normal between them. Especially considering the fact that they were never all that normal to begin with.

He feels that familiar flutter in his chest, the one that almost always leads him down a road of irreparably impulsive decision making, uncharacteristic of his usual calculated nature. Deb said that she feels like she's drifting and that make sense because he feels that way, too. They're lost at sea together, drifting aimlessly in hopes that someday, they'll make it back to shore. They've been traveling down the same road in different cars; floating across the same ocean in different rafts. But it doesn't have to be that way. No, not anymore.

Dexter wants to fling himself from his raft and immerse himself among the waves, all with the hope that Deb will extend a hand and save a place for him beside her, despite how undeserving he may be. Yet faith has never been on his side, and like a child he fears that she'll come to her senses and let him drop. But he could never hold that against her. He'd sink down beneath the murky waters with a smile on his face and a song in his heart because she'd chosen herself and that's more than alright. He'd die happily if it meant saving her.

Still he stands with his hands at his sides, scared to extend a hand and finally take that dive. But to make that choice is to give Deb no choice at all, to doom her to keep drifting alone.

Following his heart has done so much harm lately, arguably more than it's worth…

He does it anyway.

He closes the distance between them in a few small strides, gently uncrossing Deb's arms and reaching out to hold one of her unsteady hands in his. He uses his other hand to cup her cheek, catching the tears between his fingers as they fall.

She shivers at his touch, letting her eyes flutter closed as Dexter gently rubs his calloused fingers along the contours of her cheek.

All of his life, Dexter has been drawing strength from her, from her light. What would happen if that light were to burn out?

He won't let that happen.

Slowly, he leans in to her, vanilla and coconut sweetness permeating the air and tickling the inside of his nostrils. He takes in the familiar scent: a no-name shampoo that he'd bought for her the very same night that she'd first come to live with him after Brian. She'd caught her first glimpse of his darkness that night and she hadn't even realized, because back then, he was still her protector. He was supposed to be the caring brother who gave her a shoulder to cry on whenever she needed one, the caring man who drove around for over an hour in search of a twenty four hour drugstore that actually had shampoo in stock in the middle of the night. Shampoo that she'd evidently been using ever since. He still wants to be that person.

Dexter closes his eyes as he leans in closer, his heart pounding louder than the beat of a thousand drums once his lips finally brush against hers.

The kiss is chaste and he doesn't dare deepen it, waiting anxiously for Deb to do something. _Anything_.

And soon enough, she does do something. She doesn't kiss him back, though, which isn't entirely unexpected. She pulls away, her chest rising and falling so fast it matches the speed of his own.

"Dexter…" She softly moans.

Coming from her lips, his name always manages to sound _better_ somehow. Maybe even good.

She inches closer to him again and he shuts his eyes as he feels her anxious breaths dance across his face. He braces himself for the return of the warm feeling of her mouth against his, the pit of his stomach flooding with a swarm of nervous butterflies that make him feel like a second grade boy failing to work up the courage to approach his first real crush.

Deb makes her next move after what feels like hours. Instead of her soft lips pressed against his once again, Dexter feels the red hot sting of her firm hand as she slaps his cheek. Hard.

"Okay, I guess I deserved that." He sighs, rubbing at his tingling cheek.

He inches closer to her again, his skin prickling with goosebumps and the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.

"Deb, I swear I have no idea what I'm doing, but I want you to let me kiss you again. D-do _you_ want me to kiss you again?"

He's so close that his lips brush against Deb's with every carefully uttered word and she gasps. Whether it's because she's scared of him or because she's scared of what she wants him to do to her, he has no way of knowing for sure.

Deb pauses for a beat and then slaps him again, harder this time, which he also probably deserved.

"N-No." She mumbles, followed by a harder, more self-assured dismissal. "No. Nothing's changed, Dexter. You already made your choice this morning."

"_Everything's_ changed!" He exclaims, latching onto her arm when she tries to walk away from him.

Dexter knows that his grip on her wrist is bound to leave a mark, but he can't accept that everything they've been through has only been leading up to this. Their story feels unfinished, somehow. Right now, there is no period at the end of the sentence. Only a comma.

"I don't want to do this now, Dexter. Just…let go of me, will you?" She weakly pleads.

He releases her wrist and falls to his knees like a petulant child in a grown man's body. He wraps his arms around Deb, just below her rear, and buries his face into the lowest part of her abdomen, his tears staining the thin material of her blouse.

"Deb, _please_." He begs, ugly sobs filling the air. "It's just you and me, Deb. I love you."

"I know you do, Dexter." She replies, sweetly running her fingers through his hair. "And I love you too. But that just isn't enough anymore. I'm sorry."

She has nothing to apologize for but she does it anyway, chanting those words through her tears like a strange prayer.

When she pulls away Dexter still refuses to let go, and it takes a few more tries for Deb to actually pry his arms completely off of her.

"Go home, Dexter." She says, offering him a reluctant hand. He takes it, lets her help him back to his feet. "Your son needs you."

Her sparkling hazel eyes meet his one last time before she turns away, retreating to her bedroom and slamming the door closed behind her.

He wants to go to her but what is there left to say? It's all fucked beyond repair, and now, Deb is truly done.

She chose herself, and that's more than alright. But that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Dexter makes his way out the front door, forgetting to bring his kit with him as he locks himself inside his car.

His hands are shaking too much to put his key in the ignition and so he waits, turning the radio up as loud as it can go to drown out the sound of his cries.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: HOLY SHIT! Was my last update really almost a month ago? I can't believe it. I sincerely apologize if anyone was wondering where I've been. I don't really have a good answer for you guys besides the horrible combination that is busyness and writer's block :P but I'm back now, and I really hope this will be worth the wait. It's the longest chapter yet. **

**Like I said before, I never really had an end in mind for this particular story, and although I do believe that this chapter could potentially serve as a satisfying conclusion, I have no plans for this to be the last chapter. I am working on another fic, however, one that puts a spin on the events of 'Argentina' and takes a look and Deb and Dex's relationship throughout different stages in their lives, and because that one is most likely a one shot, I could end up posting that before updating this one again. **

**ROSEY cheeks: so sorry for the wait, I hope this makes up for it! I think you'll be happy with how things turn out ;) Guest: This probably wasn't your definition of updating soon, but I think I managed to come through with your second request *wink wink* Tom: Thank you! I remember you mentioning before how much you enjoyed seeing Deb and Dexter's relationship in some of its earlier stages, so I must admit that I included that little flashback in the beginning of chapter 4 for you :) You were totally right about them needing a mediator on this one, so hopefully it turns out well! haha. I hope you enjoy! DeeDee83: I'm glad that you were a fan of my angst, I know how frustrating it can be sometimes in ff when you want people to make up so badly but they're both too stubborn to work it out. I think you'll be happy with this chapter, though. darknessfalls28: Thank you so much for your lovely compliment! I'm so happy that you're enjoying this story so far. I, too love when Dexter is the desperate one in the relationship. It's my weakness. And honestly, Dexter deserves to suffer a little bit after all that he's put Debra through...lol. Hope you enjoy!**

**Reviews are love! xo**

* * *

Deb rolls out of bed, her heart so heavy she wouldn't be surprised if it fell from her chest. She slides yesterday's jeans down past her thighs, eventually stepping out of the pants with a sigh and tossing them to the other side of the room. She thinks that there might've been a time in her life when she didn't actually dread getting out of bed in the morning, but she can't seem to remember when that was.

She groans once she catches sight of the clock at her bedside table, reporting that it isn't actually morning at all, but practically the middle of the afternoon.

"Holy shit." She mumbles, unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it clear across the room to join the abandoned pair of jeans.

She feels sore all over, and there's a sharp pain in the pit of her stomach now that matches the incessant throbbing at the back of her head. She isn't sure if she has Saxon's creepy methods of torture to thank for that, or her little tryst with Dexter from a couple of days ago. Most likely, it's a little bit of both. Great.

Hunger probably has something to do with it too, though. Last night, after finally cleaning up the sheets of plastic around her place, Deb decided that it would be a good idea to get blackout drunk on an empty stomach and avoid life for a while. At her age, she should probably know that she'll never find the answers to all of her problems at the bottom of a lukewarm bottle of whisky, but that certainly hasn't stopped her from trying.

Deb mindlessly reaches over to her bedside table in search of her cell phone, cursing to herself when she realizes that it isn't there.

She must've dropped it back at Dexter's apartment, which means that he probably still has it. If he thinks that he can use her phone as a fucking bargaining chip then he's way off base. Seeing Dexter is the last thing Deb needs right now, but she decides to call the phone anyway. Hopefully he'll pick up on the first ring so she can tell him to leave it in her mailbox or something, and that will be that.

She heads to the living room so she can use her home phone, feeling particularly prehistoric as she dials her cell number. As she waits to hear Dexter's familiar baritone voice on the other end of the line, she starts to anxiously jiggle one leg, trying (and failing) to ignore the tightness that builds in her chest and the butterflies that flutter in her stomach.

"Hello?"

"Harrison?" Deb breathes a sigh of relief, the sweet sound of the toddler's voice helping to calm her down if only for a moment. "How are you doing, baby? It's been a little while, and I've seriously been missing my favorite nephew."

"But I'm your _only_ nephew!" He giggles in response.

"Mmm, okay, I guess you got me there." She smiles. "But since you're my only nephew, I guess that just makes you even _more_ special, doesn't it?"

"Are you okay, Aunt Deb? You sound sleepy. Did you have too many beers?" Harrison wonders, his oddly serious tone making what should be an innocent conversation sound more like an interrogation.

It bothers Deb that this isn't the first time he's ever asked her that question. She's the drunk, irresponsible aunt now. That's the type of shit that her nephew has come to expect from her. The kid isn't even five years old yet. Deb doesn't know a thing about raising kids, but she figures that they probably shouldn't even know what a beer is before they're even able to properly tie their own shoes.

Rita would die all over again if she could see the Morgans now.

Deb decides to ignore Harrison's question. He's got a short attention span, he probably won't think much of it anyway. "How have things been going at school, buddy? I bet you're making a ton of friends."

"You had a fight with daddy, didn't you?" The toddler asks matter-of-factly.

Always cutting right to the chase, that one.

"What makes you think that, Harrison?" Deb asks, picking nervously at a hangnail. "What has Dexter – er, _your dad_ – been telling you?"

"He didn't tell me anything. But he's been really sad ever since me and Jaime came back from the movies, and I'm scared." He whimpers.

"Oh Harrison, there's no reason to be scared. Me and your daddy are fine, okay? We always are." Deb insists. She rolls her eyes, thankful that the kid can't actually see her at the present moment. "Grown-ups, we get into argu – no, _disagreements_ – all the time, but we always find a way to fix it in the end. It isn't easy, but we have to do it. That's why you need to appreciate being a kid for as long as you can, Harrison. Being an adult might seem like fun now, but it's hard work. I'd trade places with you if I could."

"I don't think I ever want to be a grown-up. Grown-ups drink beers, and I don't think I'd like those. I like juice."

"Hey! I'm a grown-up and I _love _juice." She laughs. "I mean, there are so many flavors, how could I not?"

There's a long pause, followed by Harrison's cheerful declaration of "No, it's not a stranger, daddy, it's Aunt Deb!"

Deb hears a slight shift on the other line and she knows that the phone is about to change hands. She considers hanging up before Dexter even has a chance to plead his case, but his deep, strangled _"Deb?"_ echoing from the other line sends shockwaves through her system, stopping any bitter thoughts dead in their tracks.

She plops down on the kitchen floor, leaning up against the refrigerator for support. The fridge's steel door feels pleasantly cool against her back, completely bare with the exception of her bra.

He says her name again, his hoarse voice burning the tips of her ears, igniting them a fiery red.

"Dexter, I'm, uh, I'm probably in heaps of fucking trouble with Elway right now, so could you please just drop my phone off at home for me? I won't be there, so you can just leave it in the mailbox." Deb finally replies.

She knows that isn't what he wants to hear but she can't bring herself to give him anything else. Not when she's already given him so much already.

"Okay. But Deb, listen…" Dexter trails off.

"How's your side doing? My shitty stitch work hasn't come undone already, has it?" She asks, ignoring his plea.

Deb hears the concern in her voice and winces in response. Dexter knows how much she cares about him, that will never change, but she doesn't want him to think that just because she still cares, all is magically forgiven. A few whispered sorrys can't undo years of damage.

"No, Deb, everything's holding up fine so far on my end. You did great. Just like I knew you would." He replies.

She can practically hear his lips acquiescing to a smile and catches herself doing the same. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand until stinging half-moons appear, burning bright with irritation. That wipes the smile from her face, sure enough.

"That's good. I'm, uh, I'm glad."

"Last night you told me that you didn't want to do this now," Dexter continues after a peaceful silence, disregarding Deb's desire to avoid having this conversation just as she'd expected him to. "And I respected that decision. I get it, you think we need some time apart. But if we don't talk about this now, then when? I can't stand by and watch you isolate yourself again like you did after New Year's."

"Then don't watch." She answers harshly. "I don't remember asking you to."

"Don't do this." He begs. "_Please_."

Deb remains silent, listens to the sound of his labored breathing. She wants to hang up on the shithead but her hand apparently has other plans as it keeps the phone pressed flat against her ear.

"Deb, are you at home now?" Dexter asks. "I left my kit there yesterday. I've got the entire day off. I can swing by now to pick it up. We can talk…finally get everything out in the open. It's about time."

"No, Dexter, I am not home right now." Deb lies. "I'm literally on my way to work. I can't keep taking advantage of Elway…I'm starting to feel kind of bad about it."

"You deserve to take another day off given everything that's happened these past few days, don't you think? Besides, I'm fairly certain that Elway doesn't mind being taken advantage of by you."

"Oh? And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying…he has feelings for you, Deb."

"Pssh, fuck you," Deb snorts. "You don't even know the guy."

"I've met him a time or two, and he was clearly interested in you. I don't know…all things considered, I can't say that I blame him."

Dexter's voice catches in his throat, and the silence lingers awkwardly in the air for at least a minute before Deb decides to stop the madness.

"Dexter…" she starts, swallowing a lump in her throat that may damn well be the size of Texas. "I told you we aren't going to do this now."

"Well you can at least stop lying to me. I know you're still at home, Deb. I'll just come and get my kit. We don't even have to –"

"I'm _not_ lying." Deb snarls. "I told you, I'm on my way to work. You can just let yourself in if you need your kit that fucking bad. I mean, you're no stranger to picking locks. You've done it plenty of times before."

"But it's Saturday." He counters.

"So?"

"Elway doesn't give you the weekends off?"

"What can I say, assholes looking to skip bail aren't too big on giving people like me the opportunity to take the weekend off. It's a goddamn tragedy."

"Your car is still parked in my driveway, Deb." Dexter states. "And you're calling me from your landline. Unless you somehow found a way to make it portable, I know you're home. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Fuck.

"I, _uh_, I decided to take the bus today. So sue me." Deb says. "You know, it's about time I do my part to stop pollution and save the environment. Reduce, reuse, recycle…all that eco shit."

"I don't hear any noise in the background. Am I supposed to believe that you're riding on an empty bus in the middle of the day? Right before rush hour?" Dexter questions.

"Well, stranger things have happened, bro." Deb replies, unsure why she's still lying at this point. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"Deb, enough of this, alright? We aren't children anymore, we have to stop avoiding our problems."

"We have to stop avoiding our problems? _We_? Dexter, all I've ever tried to do is talk to you and for years you were having none of it. And now that you've been backed into a corner that you can't just kill or manipulate your way out of, _now_ you want to talk? No, I'm not doing this anymore." Deb sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"I know that you're angry. You have every right to be, but –"

"You can never take a fucking hint, can you? Let me give it to you straight then. Fuck off, Dexter." Deb interrupts. "I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to see you, and I don't want to hear from you. All I want is for you to leave my phone in the mailbox like I asked. Have Jaime do it if it's too much trouble."

"It isn't too much trouble." He sighs. "Fine, if you don't want to see me, how about me and Harrison then? He misses you. Don't take whatever is happening between us out on him. That isn't fair."

"I would never accuse you of being an upstanding citizen, but I have to say, I thought you were above using your own son as a bargaining chip. It's nice to see that after all this time, you're still able to surprise me, Dexter. It's great that you can still keep things fresh." She adds dryly.

"It's not like that, Deb. Harrison wants to spend some time with you, that's all. It's been too long."

"So he's finally crawled his way out of Hannah's ass and is ready to start giving me the time of day again?" Deb snaps. "Fuck…I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to say that. I know he cares about me, it's just…that hurt, you know?"

"I know. But he didn't mean anything by it. He's a child. It's easy for children to form attachments. I don't think Harrison is ready to accept that someone can walk into his life and then just check out. I don't think I'm ready to accept that, either."

"Dex…" She mumbles. "I'm not…I'm not _leaving you_, okay? I just need time. Do you think you can give me that?"

"Alright," he murmurs his acceptance. "I can give you time. Just try not to take too much of it."

"I'll try, if you promise not to do anything stupid in the meantime." Deb smirks. "Because if you tear those stitches, you better not even think about asking me for help. That was my first and last time as an acting medical professional."

Dexter chuckles, and it's a nice sound; a welcome one. More welcome than it has any right to be. "Yes ma'am."

Deb pictures his right hand coming to rest at his forehead in a mock salute and giggles at the thought of it before digging her nails into her palm once more. If Dexter catches on to her sudden change in attitude he makes no mention of it. He's so quiet that for a second Deb wonders if he's hung up on her.

"I love you, Deb." He says, his voice quavering and breathy.

"I love you too, Dex."

She ends the call before he has the chance to say another word, finally forcing herself to stand. She feels lightheaded, bordering on faint, and she knows that she can't put off eating much longer.

Deb opens the fridge to find nothing but half-empty bottles of beer and a sorry excuse for meatloaf that she won't even try to guess how long has been sitting there. She closes the door with a resigned sigh and makes her way to the bathroom, dragging her feet all the way there.

Once in the shower, she takes what her mom used to call a 'quick drizzle', trying to push thoughts of Dexter far back into the deepest parts of her mind as she fights the urge to slip two fingers between her legs and quell the ache that has lingered there since he finally put his hands on her.

She dries herself off and gets dressed in a rather unimpressive outfit no different than anything else she's worn as of late, completing the look with her largest pair of sunglasses to mask the massive bags that have begun to form beneath her eyes.

She decides to take the bus to a café she used to frequent when she still worked at Miami Metro, now technically making what she said to Dexter earlier only half of a lie and not a full one. Not that it matters or anything. As many times as he's lied to her, they've got a long way to go until they're even.

Inside the café, she spots a familiar face (or more specifically, a familiar back-of-the-head), that makes her stop dead in her tracks. She considers bolting out of the door in search of another place to eat, but he turns to face her almost immediately, as if he could actually sense her standing there.

"Deb?" Quinn smiles, his eyes opening wider than she's ever seen them. "Hey, come and sit down."

He practically leaps from his seat, gesturing for her to take it. She obliges, though not very happily. It's been a while since the two of them have had a proper conversation, and even though Joey is one of the only real friends she has left, this is definitely not the time for a cordial visit.

He sits down opposite from her, sliding a cheap looking laminated menu across the table and into her idle hands.

"You want me to order you a cup of coffee? French vanilla, no cream and no sugar…bitter as all hell?" Quinn suggests, folding his hands out in front of him with a playful smirk.

"Ah, I'm surprised you remembered all that." Deb smiles, pushing her aviators up and off of her face. "Sure, and one of those fancy croissant things, too. I'm fucking starving."

"Shit, Deb." He recoils. "You look terrible. Did you miss one too many nights of sleep?"

"Wow, thanks Joey. It's good to know that the mere sight of me makes you want to throw up in your mouth." She replies with a tight smile. "I always did love your honesty."

"Oh come on, I didn't really mean it like that. You could never look terrible, you know."

Something shifts in the air, and the look in Quinn's icy blues is almost a little _too _familiar. Like maybe he may view this as something more than a chance meeting between friends.

Deb coughs. "So, um, how have things been going at the station lately? Still putting away the bad guys, I hope."

"I guess you could say that…" Quinn sighs, shifting nervously in his seat. "Though not as much as we used to. Not like when you were there to keep our asses in line."

"Not this speech again. Joey, come on. I already got an earful from Angel."

"What? It's the truth. We need you. We've _always_ needed you, and you know it. You're just too proud to admit it."

"Stop it." Deb lowly replies, her eyes darting across the room, looking anywhere but at the man in front of her. "I was a shit detective and an even shittier Lieutenant. You're all better off without me there."

"Why do you always have to do that?" He asks, his jaw clenching as he fixes his gaze on her.

"Do what?"

"Fuck with your own head." He replies, reaching across the table to place both of his hands over hers. "You were the best damn detective in the entire department, Deb. It's about time you owned that."

"I think I'm gonna go find a waitress..." She says, carefully sliding her hand out from underneath Quinn's. "I'm so hungry, I could eat the fucking cash register."

Deb rises unceremoniously from her chair. She doesn't look, but she knows that Quinn is still watching. She can feel his heated stare on her back, prickling her skin into gooseflesh and making the hair on her arms stand tall.

She chokes back a sob and pulls her glasses back over her eyes as she approaches the counter, forcing a smile to her face to greet the waitress that meets her halfway there.

The bubbly brunette reminds Deb a bit too much of herself, of who she used to be. The woman practically bounces from foot to foot as she jots down her order, the naïvely sunny smile of a girl not yet tainted by any of life's real tragedies beaming across her pretty face. Deb almost feels sorry for the girl. She has no idea what she's in for.

The woman thanks Deb for her order and then turns away to help another customer, her smile painfully wide, unwavering.

Deb heads back to her table, surprised to find that Joey is no longer sitting there.

"Uh, I should probably get going." He states, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head. "I'm already late, and I'm definitely not looking forward to facing Angel's wrath."

"You'll be fine, Angel's nothing but a teddy bear." Deb laughs. "Tell him that I said hey, alright?"

"Yeah, I'll do that." Joey nods.

He reaches into his pocket and produces a twenty dollar bill that he then forces into Deb's hand. His fingers dance along her palm for a beat too long but she ignores it as she tries to transfer the money back into his hand.

"I can't take this…"

"Nah, keep it. Get yourself another one of those fancy croissant things." He smiles. "You're looking a little skeletal, no offense."

"None taken, jackass." Deb replies, shoving the crumpled bill into her jeans pocket after playfully elbowing his ribcage.

"Look, Deb, just…don't be a stranger, alright?"

"Yeah, okay..." She nods, her lips pressing together to form a weak smile. "Definitely not."

Quinn looks into her eyes, his filled with what can only be described as longing. She wishes he wouldn't, but when his hands come to rest at her shoulders, she knows what he's about to do.

"Joey…"

His eyes flutter closed as he cranes his head to one side, leaning in closer. Hers stay open for the duration of the kiss, if it can even be called that. His puckered lips move against her still ones with a sense of desperation, but she gives him nothing. She wants to feel bad but she can't bring herself to feel anything but irritated.

Quinn has always worn his heart on his sleeve when it comes to her, and she wishes he would stop. He deserves better than this, better than her. Jamie is a sweet girl, why can't he learn to be happy with her? She hopes that someday, he will.

"I, uh, I guess I'll be seeing you then." He adds, finally breaking the kiss.

Joey pulls away after a few more awkward seconds of closeness. He turns and walks away before Deb has the chance to think of something to say in response, which is probably for the best. She'd probably find a way to fuck things up even more than they already are. That's kind of her specialty lately.

Deb takes a seat back at the table, resting her elbows on the countertop so she can hold her head in her hands.

She lets the sobs come.

* * *

After eating three too many croissants and spending the rest of the afternoon wandering aimlessly around the city, Deb returns to her house feeling significantly less upset than she did that morning.

She checks the mailbox, smiling to herself when she sees that Dexter actually left her phone there for her like he said he would.

When she puts her key into the lock, she's surprised to find the door is already open. The cop in her screams for her to arm herself but she thinks better of it. No one would think to break into her house before it even started getting dark out. No one but Dexter, that is.

"So much for giving me space, huh?" Deb shouts, letting herself inside.

And there he is, the source of her madness, sitting calm and cross-legged in the middle of her living room. He's a vision of destruction in khakis and a powder blue button down, and Deb almost laughs at the normalcy of it all. He looks like the type of guy who would spend his spare time leading weekly PTA meetings, not tossing bodies off the side of a fishing boat.

"What, nothing to say for yourself, Dex?" She adds, her anger only thinly veiled.

Suddenly, Dr. Evelyn Vogel appears from the dimly lit kitchen, a cup of tea in hand.

"What the…I didn't even know I had a teapot." Deb mumbles.

"You didn't, I brought one with me from home." The older woman warmly replies, her eyes small slits that Deb can never seem to get a read on.

Deb would be lying if she said that therapy with Vogel hadn't helped her some; and until now, she's viewed the psychiatrist as nothing more than a well-meaning annoyance. Showing up at her house unannounced, though? If the goal was to piss Deb off, well, mission accomplished.

"So what is this, exactly?" She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't remember signing up for a family therapy session."

"Dexter has been worried about you, Debra. It was brought to my attention that he fears you may soon do something you'll regret." The doctor says, taking a seat on the couch across from Dexter.

Before Deb got here, they must have pulled out two chairs from her kitchen and placed them in front of the couch and voila, a makeshift therapist's office. The thought makes Deb's blood boil.

"Jesus," She starts, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "You can't leave me alone for one second, can you, Dexter? But to fucking ambush me in my own house? Classy."

"I wouldn't have brought Evelyn here if I didn't think she could help us, Deb." He replies. "Could you at least hear her out?"

"I don't want to hear anything but your car pulling out of my driveway." She replies, dragging the empty chair a few feet away from Dexter so she can sit down.

"I'm not leaving." Dexter says. "Not until we talk."

His hazel eyes glimmer with desperation, the look on his face involuntarily making her bite down hard on her bottom lip. She knows that look well. With that look comes a familiar sort of tension; tightly wound knots in the pit of her stomach that are almost always followed by that delicious ache between her legs. Most nights her hands are compelled to travel far beneath the covers to find some semblance of peace, and it makes her sick how little it makes her sick.

She pushes those thoughts away, tries to focus on being as mad at him as she wants to be.

"You know, some people would consider this stalking." Deb sighs. But she gives in to him – doesn't she always? – sliding her chair closer so that it's beside his again. "Fine, then. Let's talk."

The three of them remain unusually silent, not a single one knowing where to start.

Deb coughs. "Well, Dexter, since this shit was your idea, why don't you do us the honor of telling us why you're here?"

"Actually, Debra, I would like to hear from you." Vogel interjects. "You're usually very loquacious. What's been on your mind?"

"Nothing," Deb says, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest like an unruly teenager. "There's nothing on my mind. Why don't you ask your star pupil over there? I didn't sign up for any serial killer conventions, so…"

"Nonsense," Evelyn smiles, setting a full cup of tea down on the futon to Deb. "We're all here now, regardless of circumstance. There is no point in wasting this opportunity, is there?"

Deb accepts the tea, reluctantly bringing the cup to her lips more out of thirst than courtesy. She closes her eyes and tries to pretend that it's beer.

"Now tell me, Debra…how did killing my son make you feel?"

"_What?_" Deb gasps, spitting a mouthful of the tea onto the floor. "Your…_your son_?"

"Yes." She nods. "Oliver Saxon, Daniel Vogel, was my son."

The older woman takes a casual sip of her tea, as if she were talking about something trivial like the weather or something she watched on TV last night; not the death of a son no one even knew she had.

Deb remembers flashes of the conversation Dexter and Saxon were having yesterday as she started to regain consciousness. She recalls Dexter saying the name Daniel but at the time she thought nothing of it, and honestly, given the circumstances, who could blame her?

"I'm sorry, Evelyn. I didn't know." Deb replies, her eyes falling down to her feet.

"No need for apologies, Debra." She insists. "This isn't about my life, but yours. So tell me, did it feel good, wielding the knife that meant the end of a life?"

"It didn't feel good when I killed Saxon. But it didn't feel bad, either. It felt…right." Deb answers.

She knows that Dexter is staring without even bothering to turn to him. She wonders what he thinks of her now. Does he think that they're the same? Does he hate her for it?

"So it feels right to you – killing? Being a killer?" Vogel suggests, setting down her tea in favor of a small notepad that had previously been resting in her lap.

"You can_not_ be serious with this shit."

Vogel doesn't respond. Instead, she simply gestures for Deb to continue.

"I didn't have a choice!" She snaps. "That lunatic –no offense – he would have killed Dexter if I hadn't stepped in when I did. I did what I had to do, and that's it. It's over. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"With all due respect, Debra, that was not the question. I did not ask you about choice, but existence."

Deb sighs. "I don't _like_ killing, alright? I…I'm not –"

"Like Dexter." The doctor finishes, a knowing look in her eyes.

Deb sinks lower in her chair, as if she can somehow make herself smaller. Make herself disappear. She isn't sure what to do with her hands so she folds them in her lap, her fingers fidgeting together fretfully. She gasps when Dexter reaches out to her, his rough fingers intertwining with her smooth ones. He brings her hand up to his mouth and presses a nervous kiss to her knuckles, that familiar tension knotting up with a vengeance in the pit of her stomach.

He brings their joined hands to rest between the two of them, and neither one tries to pull away. If the woman sitting before them thinks it strange she doesn't say as much, electing to scribble something down in her notepad instead.

"Very well, then. Are you finally ready to divulge the intimate details of your relationship?" Vogel asks after a prolonged silence. "I think that would be a good place to steer the conversation next."

"_Intimate_!?" Deb shrieks, dropping Dexter's hand as if burned. "Look, I don't know what you think you know about us, but you're wrong. Dexter is…he's my fucking _brother_. Don't you _dare _come into my house and suggest that I…that we…_had sex_!"

"You're misunderstanding me, Debra. My intent was never to disrespect you or your home. I never accused you and Dexter of sleeping together. There are many different forms of intimacy, after all." The older woman replies, calm as ever. "Over the short time that I have known you both, I have simply inferred about the nature of the very specific bond that you and Dexter share. It's quite fascinating, and I would like to delve deeper, if you'd let me."

"We aren't a fucking science project for you to gawk at! We are _real people_, Evelyn. With real fucking lives!" Deb stops yelling for a moment to rise from her seat and point an accusatory finger in the woman's face. "And what the fuck have you been writing in your fucking _pad_?"

She snatches the notepad out of Dr. Vogel's hands, reading the words she'd written down in disgust.

"_Subject highly offended at the suggestion that her relationship with her brother is anything less than familial. Protesting too much, perhaps?_" She scoffs, flings the notebook to the other side of the room. "Fuck this! Fuck you!"

"Debra, I didn't mean to upset you…"

"Well you did, and I think it's about time for you to go."

"Deb, please…" Dexter pleads, suddenly appearing behind her.

He places his hands on her shoulders and starts to rub, and surprisingly, that actually calms her down some.

"You don't have to talk anymore, okay? Just listen. Only for a couple more minutes" He whispers in her ear. "There are still some things you need to hear."

"Fine." She mumbles, defeated. "A couple of minutes."

Dexter takes her hand and guides her back to her seat, giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

Evelyn clears her throat. "Maybe it's time we heard from Dexter now."

"I don't really know where to begin." He replies, uncharacteristically shy.

"Well, seeing as you are the one responsible for bringing this session to fruition, there must have been something on your mind of great importance." She urges. "Go on, Dexter. There is no judgement here. Not amongst family."

Dexter remains silent, shifts in his seat as if he's itching for something.

"Very well then, I'll get the conversation going." Vogel says. "How does it feel, Dexter, knowing that Debra doesn't see herself as a killer? You came to me worried that your biggest fear was becoming a reality. Are you relieved, knowing that your fears are just that?"

"Of course I'm relieved." Dexter replies. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

"And what of your desires?" Vogel prods. "What of your need to kill?"

"I need her more." Dexter says, the truth in his glistening eyes.

"Then I guess the question becomes, can the two of you still coexist?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Deb asks the woman, still relatively upset.

"You and Dexter are operating on completely different wavelengths. You've managed to survive each other for your entire lives, but eventually, there is bound to be a collision. A climax, if you will. I thought that you attempting to kill Dexter as well as yourself was that point of collision, but I now wonder if I may have been wrong."

"We haven't _survived _each other." Dexter says, glaring at the woman before him. He blindly reaches for Deb's hand, giving it a tight squeeze before continuing. "We've survived _because_ we have each other."

"Do you believe that you cannot exist without your sister in your life, then?"

"Y-yes." He answers, his voice cracking. "She's everything that's good about me. Without her, I'd be a black hole, destroying everything in my path."

"Why? You are your own man, Dexter, with your own unique purpose. You cannot rely on Debra for that. Your goodness is yours and yours alone." She states. "Your dependence on your sister is alarming, and in my opinion, it cannot continue to exist at this level."

"I didn't bring you here to lecture me, Evelyn. I brought you here for advice. But if you're just going to waste my time –"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Dr. Vogel interrupts, a passive smile washing over her face. "Alright then, since you don't want to hear what I have to say, let's change the subject. Dexter, do you fear that you have done irrevocable damage to your relationship with your sister?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." He blurts out. "I, uh, I put Deb on my table."

"Oh my." Evelyn recoils, folding her hands in her lap. "Well that was certainly…unexpected."

Deb's heart skips a beat. She feels compelled to punch Dexter in the gut but remembers that he'd been stabbed there not even twenty-four hours ago. She wants to hurt him for his slip of the tongue, but not that bad. She slides her hand out of his, which is easier said than done thanks to his iron grip, and balls both of her hands into fists at her sides.

"What possessed you to do such a thing, Dexter?" The doctor asks, her eyes sparkling with a perverse sort of curiosity.

"I don't know…" He begins. "I just…she…_we_…"

"Go on…"

"I did it because I wanted to, alright!" He shouts.

"You wanted to kill her?" Vogel asks, though it comes out as more of a statement than a question.

Deb groans. She wishes the woman would make up her mind already. Does she think that Dexter is one half of a codependent train wreck, or does she still view him as the heartless killing machine that she'd conspired to mold him into? Her sudden change in attitude is starting to give Deb whiplash.

"No. No, I didn't want to kill her." Dexter adamantly replies. "I wanted to betray everything I thought was right, and I did. I…"

Debra practically jumps from her seat. She reaches for Dexter's hand, yanking him out of his chair and attempting to drag him out of the living room.

"Just give us a moment, Evelyn." Dexter says with a forced smile before allowing Deb to lead him all the way into the bathroom.

She slams the door shut and locks the both of them inside, reaching past the curtains and into the shower. Because she has a feeling that things are about to get loud, she turns the water on full blast to drown out any potential noise.

"Don't you think that was a bit much?" Dexter smirks.

"Shut up, asshole." Deb says, yelling so she can be heard over the pounding stream of water. "What the fuck were you about to say just now, Dex? Jesus…were you really about to tell that sweet little old lady in there that we're a couple of incestuous freaks? Did you _want_ her to have a heart attack in the middle of my living room floor?"

"Deb, I'm a serial killer. That sweet little old lady in there – " Dexter says, putting air quotes around Deb's laughable description of Vogel. " – she helped make me that way. I don't think I could do anything to surprise her at this point."

"I guess you're right." She sighs. "God, we've really fucked ourselves into a corner this time, Dexter."

"Yeah, literally." He deadpans.

Deb replies with a swift punch to his shoulder. Not too hard, but rough enough to make him flinch. Good. "I don't know how you can joke about something like this."

"I'm not joking, Deb. This is serious."

Dexter's eyes meet hers, holding them captive like they have so many times before.

"What the fuck are you staring at, dork?" Deb asks, but he refuses to turn away. She wraps her arms around her middle, yearning to shield herself from his gaze. How is it that he manages to make her feel so exposed?

"Have you ever felt like someone was always meant to be in your life?" Dexter asks out of left field. "No matter what shit gets thrown your way?"

"Sometimes." Debs answers. "Like whenever I think about you."

She can see her cheeks flush a subtle shade of red in the mirror, already partially fogged. Deb quickly turns away to hide the evidence from herself. She isn't sure if she's embarrassed by her forwardness or simply ashamed of the feelings that she still clearly harbors for him; the man who has destroyed her a thousand times over only to build her back up again. It's fucked. Utterly fucked.

Dexter inches closer to her, places a shaky hand on her chest right over her rapidly beating heart. Deb puts her hand over his.

"It kills me that you don't know how special you are." He says. "I would do anything for a second chance."

"A second chance? I think we're up to three or four hundred chances by now, Dex." Deb laughs.

"Yeah, that is probably more accurate." He chuckles. "I don't deserve you."

"What!?" Deb shouts, unable to make out what he said over the noise from the shower.

"I said: I don't deserve you!" He repeats.

He looks at her through his impossibly long lashes, his eyes falling immediately to her lips. Deb's first instinct is to run, but where would she go exactly? She can never be free of him for long, and even if she could, she knows she would never want to be anyway. No matter what she tells herself a few beers in.

"What is this, Dexter?" Deb gulps, taking her hand from his. "All you've done these past few days is confuse me. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel anymore."

"This is…_right_." He realizes. "This is how we're supposed to feel, I think. It has to be."

"Stop it!" Deb shouts. "Stop! I'm not going to let you do this to me again. You pick me up, and then you drop me. And after you feed me some half-assed apology – which I accept, because I have no other choice – I crawl back into your arms and let you drop me again! No. Not this time. Not again."

"Deb, listen –"

"What even brought this on, Dexter? It doesn't make any fucking sense!" She yells, running her fingers erratically through her hair.

Dexter rubs the nape of his neck. "After you killed El Sapo, you told me that you couldn't change the way you felt about me. I don't know, it made me think. I guess I just haven't been able to come to terms with it until now."

"It made you think, huh? That's great. It's nice to know that thinking is something you do every now and then." She says, jutting her chin out towards him; a defense mechanism that she's all but perfected over the years.

"I love you so much, Deb." He says, choking up. "I've loved you even before I knew I was capable of loving another human being."

"Bullshit." Deb says, hot tears streaming down her face. "What about before? You made me think I was crazy when I told you how I felt…how I _feel_. You told me it was all in my head. You said it was logical, whatever that's supposed to mean. You said it was like Kit-Kats or…or _M&amp;Ms_, or some shit."

She's a blubbering mess and she's knows it, borderline hysterical even, but she can't control herself. She tries to turn away from him as her sobs rip through her very soul, but Dexter comes close, impossibly close, and kneels before her.

"Harry told me that you were meant to be my little sister, my responsibility. I was supposed to look out for you. I was supposed to protect you. I wasn't supposed to…to fall in love with you. But that's what I did, and I can't change that. And the fact is, I don't want to."

Deb sinks down to his level, his face blurring in and out of her vision thanks to the tears welling in her eyes. "W-what?"

"I believed I would never find real love. I thought that I would never have a real, lasting bond with someone. But I searched for one anyway, and I was always disappointed when it met its inevitable end. But those failed relationships, they were all just an excuse, a distraction from what really mattered. They were a way for me to avoid facing my biggest fear: my feelings. My feelings for _you_, Deb."

Deb closes her eyes and leans into him, pressing her forehead to his. For once, she's rendered speechless.

Dexter inhales sharply as he considers what to say next. "My love for you…it's survival. It's how I stay alive."

"God, I love you." Deb says, pulling away so she can properly look into his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder how I can possibly still feel that way after everything we've been through, but that doesn't make it any less real. Even on my worst day, I love you more than anyone else could. But we're never going to be normal, Dexter. This is never going to be a relationship. I can't give you what you wanted. What you almost had, before…"

Deb trails off, ashamed. She took Hannah away from him. How could he ever forgive her for that?

"I don't want normal, Deb. It doesn't exist. Not for us, anyway. Besides, love was never meant to be easy, right?" Dexter smiles, reaching for her unsteady hand. "So give me reckless. Give me devastating. Give me everything you have left to give. I just want to be the man that deserves you. I don't, not yet; but –"

Her lips come crashing against his, effectively shutting him up and putting an end to his self-deprecating bullshit…for now, at least. She traces her tongue across his plump bottom lip and he falls apart like putty in her hands, his mouth opening wide enough to grant entrance to her curious tongue.

He grabs at her waist and she whimpers into his mouth. He lifts her without warning, and when he stands them both up she wraps her legs around his waist, feels his pressing need hard against her groin.

"Dexter…" She moans.

He smiles into the kiss as he takes a few steps forward. When he makes it to the shower he kicks off his shoes and steps inside with Deb in tow, the water washing over their heads like a metaphorical baptism.

His hold on her waist is bruising as he tries to carry her weight, her entire body already wet from the downpour. Dexter backs up as far as he can go, pressing Deb's back against the cool tiled wall for added support. Once satisfied, he deepens the kiss, letting one of his hands travel lower to cup her ass.

It should feel wrong, his lips moving against hers, but it tastes _right_.

It should feel wrong, his flesh against hers, but right now, it's the only thing that makes any sense.

"D-_Dex_…" She grunts when he grinds his dick against her just right. "Ugh, Vogel!"

"What?" He asks, breaking the kiss only to grin as he redirects his attention to her exposed neck.

"Vogel!" Deb repeats. "She's still _here_, Dexter. We can't…"

"Ah, fuck." He growls, still gripping onto her tightly so she won't fall over. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know. This wasn't exactly my idea." Deb smirks. "But seeing as we're both fucking _drenched_, she's going to know that something went down in here."

"Huh…" Dexter considers, furrowing his brow. He lowers her gingerly, his hands plastered across her body until both of her feet are firmly planted at the foot of the tub. "Would you mind telling her that this session is over? I'm kind of…uh…you know."

"Yeah, yeah." She giggles, trailing her hand along his bulge for one quick moment of torture. She feels a childish sense of pride when Dexter whimpers at her touch.

Deb grabs a towel off of the rack and dries herself off as best as she can, but her damp hair and heavy shirt still leave a lot to be desired. She kicks off her wet shoes on her way out of the bathroom, tip-toeing into to the living room.

It feels pathetic to be scared of facing judgement from an elderly psychiatrist who spends her free time harvesting serial killers, but scared is exactly what Debra is. The floor creaks beneath her feet and she cringes, expecting Vogel to rear her head before she has the time to come up with a decent explanation for why she's currently dripping wet.

When she finally makes it to the living room she's surprised to find it abandoned, the only remnant of the doctor her half-empty cup of tea left neatly on the futon beneath a makeshift coaster.

"She isn't here anymore, Dexter!" Deb announces. "She must've heard us dicking around in there...oh, Christ!"

She slaps her palm flat against her forehead in distress. Great. This will definitely make for a fun follow up appointment.

"_It's nice to see you again, Debra_." The woman will probably say. _"How very unfortunate it is that you valued having relations with your brother over a discussion on the subject of your rapidly declining mental health. How was he, by the way?"_

Okay, so Vogel probably wouldn't be too interested in what it was like to fuck Dexter – at least, Deb _hopes_ she wouldn't be – but that doesn't stop her from jumping from conclusion to irrational conclusion. Maybe Dr. Vogel will even end up writing a book about them when this is all said and done. After all, they've given her more than enough material to top the New York Times Bestsellers list for months.

Deb jumps when Dexter comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She smiles, and just like that, Vogel is forgotten.

She can feel Dexter pressing himself closer against her, still just as hard as he was in the shower a few minutes ago. When he leans into her and starts to place desperate kisses in the crook of her neck she just about loses it, the very thought of him being inside of her again enough to make her go weak in the knees.

She spins around so she can look him in the eye and grabs onto both sides of his face, kissing him almost violently. He backs up until he has Deb pinned up against the wall, grabbing onto one of her legs and pulling it around him so he can anchor himself to her.

Deb lays her palms flat against his chest, pushing until he breaks the kiss with a bewildered expression on his face. She flashes him a wicked smile as she unbuttons his pants and slides them down to his ankles, unbuttoning his boxers next and freeing him with the flick of a wrist.

Her tongue darts out across her bottom lip as he stares at her through half-lidded eyes. She gets down on her knees, anticipating the taste of him, the sensation of him hitting the back of her throat. She promises herself that she'll have him jumping out of his own skin soon enough.

"Deb. No." Dexter shakes his head at her, oddly apologetic.

He tucks himself away, leaving Deb feeling embarrassed and rejected, still on her knees.

"What?" She fires back, not at all kindly.

He offers her his hand and she takes it with a scowl. She wants to be mad at him for dropping her like he has, yet she can't ignore the incessant throbbing between her legs that will surely drive her crazy if he doesn't allow her to touch him soon.

Once back on her feet she gives him a light shove that he wasn't prepared for, making him teeter back a few paces. "Jerk."

"Relax," He urges her, his deep voice sending a flush of red to her cheeks. "I want to take care of _you_ now. I think it's about time I stopped being so selfish. Let me deserve you."

"I, uh, okay." Deb stammers like a nervous kid being put on the spot in class.

Dexter reaches for her jeans first, undoing the button and dragging them past her thighs and down the length of her legs, letting them fall to the floor so she can step out of them. He goes for her shirt next, tearing it open instead of undoing the buttons one by one like a normal person would.

"Sheesh, Dexter, you really know how to romance a girl." Deb teases, opening up his shirt the proper way.

"I want to touch you." He says, reaching around to the back of her bra once she finally tosses his shirt to the floor.

"Dex," she says, beaming. "It opens from the _front_, see."

She takes off the bra for him, exposing herself to him as the garment flutters to the floor.

"You're beautiful." Dexter breathes, cupping one of her breasts in his hand as he begins trailing wet hot kisses at the tender skin behind her ear.

"Stop it." Deb mutters.

He stops.

"No, fuck, I didn't mean _stop_."

He smiles, returning to that often neglected area. She didn't realize how good it could feel. He's barely touching her and yet she already feels her nipples hardening, wetness pooling between her thighs.

As if he can read her mind he brings two fingers in between her legs to feel her, groaning when he feels the slickness dripping between his digits.

He pulls away for a second, grabbing Deb by the shoulders and pushing her down to the floor. His roughness only turns her on more, and after he gets down on his knees in front of her spread legs, she shivers in all of her eagerness.

Dexter runs his fingers along her svelte runner's legs, goosebumps rising up along his trail. He tugs her panties down to the floor, chuckling when Deb gets them tangled between her feet as she tries to kick them off in her haste.

With the pesky material finally out of the way Dexter leans before her entrance, inhaling the scent of her. Her knees buckle above his head when he blows a cool breath of air at her center, teasing her.

She feels his wet tongue along her folds without so much as a warning and she cries out, overcome with emotion as every nerve ending appears to be on edge, every sense heightened. He circles her clit with his skilled tongue, eliciting sounds from her lips that she hasn't heard herself make for years.

Of course he would be good at eating her out, too. This definitely isn't doing much to help the idea that this is _supposed_ to be wrong. It sure as shit doesn't _feel_ wrong.

She lifts herself up a bit, only enough so she can reach out for him. Her fingers knot through his hair as she tethers herself to him. She holds on for dear life as if she's scared that he'll pull away at any moment. And couldn't he? He's done it before.

Deb wishes he could spend his days between her legs with his nights dedicated to doing it all over again. She's never been to heaven but with all the talking that people do, she figures that it must feel something like this. It's soon, pathetically soon, but she feels the pressure building, her head floating among the clouds. She doesn't think she can last much longer.

His stubble leaves a pleasant burn in the most sensitive of places and she's on fire in more ways than one, her legs starting to shake around his head.

"Oh my God." She pants, tugging at her incredibly hardened nipples. "Oh my fucking _God_."

Dexter pulls away, leaving Deb writhing in anticipation; taut and oh so close.

"I didn't know you were so religious." He smirks, peaking out mischievously from between her legs.

"Shut the fuck up and finish what you fucking – _oh_!" She gasps when he slides two fingers inside of her wet heat without warning, adding a third just to show off.

His gaze is fixed on her face, studying the way that her mouth contorts after each stroke of his fingers, the beginnings of a pleased grin tugging at his lips. He works her to the precipice and back again, her strangled cries permeating through the air like an elaborate symphony reserved for his ears only.

Dexter increases his speed and all at once Deb feels her walls starting to clench around his dutiful fingers. With a scream and a shudder, she comes undone.

She feels like she's drifting, her vision blurring in and out as she lets the final waves of her orgasm wash over her.

Dexter trails sweet kisses up her legs until he makes it to her warm, sticky thighs; licking up the mess he'd been responsible for creating.

He crawls over to lay beside her, smiling as he presses his palm flat against her chest to feel the wild thrashing of her heart.

There are times when his beauty strikes her. It's in his eyes, the ones so much like hers. It's in the delicate way that he touches her with his rough hands; the same hands responsible for saving her life possibly as many times as he's ended others.

She extends a hand, affectionately traces a finger across his bottom lip. He laughs, and it's a soft sound, a nice one. She wouldn't mind hearing it more often.

"I know you see me differently now." She says, suddenly breaking the brokered peace in typical Deb fashion. "I don't blame you. I guess I'm just not the person you thought I was…"

"I used to expect the world from you." He replies, resting his head in one hand for balance and using the other to rub ardently at her cheek. "But that was wrong of me. I see myself as such an imperfect being that naturally I thought only a perfect person could balance me out the way you do. But you're not perfect, Debra. You never will be, and that's more than okay. I need _you_. Not the impossible ideal I spent my life forcing you to live up to, but _you_. Good or bad or whatever comes between."

"Thank you." Deb says, leaning into his touch. Her eyes flutter closed. "I really needed to hear that."

Dexter climbs on top of her, pressing his lips to hers. She tastes herself on his lips and with a grateful sigh she brings her hands up to rest on his bicep. She relishes in the feeling of his weight on top of her.

He traces her fingers along the scar that decorates her abdomen, courtesy of one 'El Sapo'. She blindly reaches lower until she makes contact with a scar that she doesn't yet know the story of, smiling into the kiss as she takes note of how it compliments hers.

"A-are you ready?" He asks.

His caresses are soft and reserved, and that's when she realizes. He's still scared of her. Of _this_.

Deb responds with her hands in lieu of her words, gingerly removing his boxers and exposing him to her once more. He positions himself at her entrance and she nods, spreading her legs wider for him.

"Go on, Dexter. You aren't going to hurt me."

He slides into her with relative ease, her breath hitching in the back of her throat when she feels him fill her up completely. He gulps, stalling inside of her as he adjusts to the renewed sensation. When he finally starts to move it's in slow, deliberate strokes, making Deb's toes curl with pleasure.

This is different than before. Before was fast and rough, a dangerous collision of two damaged people and their pent up desires. But this is something _right_. This is the culmination of it all. This is something that neither one of them can put a name to. It's just…_them_; the them that they were perhaps always meant to be. _Finally_.

Deb lifts her legs up and around Dexter's waist, allowing him to adjust his position and bury himself deeper inside of her. He drops his head next to her, moaning her name into her ear in the throes of passion.

"I love you." He pants, fucking her with newfound vigor.

Deb surprises him by using all of her strength to flip them, pinning him to the floor beneath her. "I love you, too."

He secures his hands around her waist with bruising force, his knuckles going white with the pressure as she straddles him. She throws her head back as she places her palms on his chest and starts to ride him, bouncing frantically in his lap, giving him everything she has left.

Dexter lets her lead but still brings his hips upward to meet her thrusts halfway. He groans, spilling inside of her not long after, her belly growing warm and fuzzy as his essence fills her.

He extends an unsteady hand to rub fiercely at her clit, effortlessly sending her careening over the edge for a second time that night. She collapses on top of his slick chest with a whimper, her breaths erratic as her heart refuses to slow.

"Don't get cocky or anything, but that was the best fucking orgasm I've ever h-had." Deb pants, too high on adrenaline to be ashamed of her bluntness. She forces herself to roll off of him, banging the back of her head against the hardwood floor as she falls. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Right here." Dexter answers, placing one hand over her thrashing heart. "I just wish I'd realized it sooner."

"Mmm, well, it doesn't matter how you get there, but _that_ you get there."

"Wow, Deb. That…that's deep."

"Isn't it? I think I read it on a bumper sticker once." She smiles. "I probably managed to fuck it up, though. Always do."

"No, it's amazing." Dexter says, tracing little circles across the soft skin of her arm. "You're amazing."

She rolls her eyes. "Hardly."

"Okay, I thought we were done arguing. Just accept my fucking compliment and move on." Dexter laughs.

"Fine, fine. You win this time." Deb giggles, climbing on top of him again. "But only because I love it when you talk dirty to me."

She brings her lips to his in a gentle kiss, Dexter's hands caressing each side of her face even as he breaks the kiss.

"You know, someone told me something about love once." He starts. "Love can be inconvenient, or inappropriate, or make us do things we wouldn't dream of doing, but wrong? That just depends where we end up...and I've gotta tell you, Deb, I like where we ended up."

"Me too." Deb agrees, pressing her forehead against his. "Who told you that?"

"Uh…that, I'd rather not say." Dexter smirks.

"Oh, well now I _definitely_ don't wanna know." She snickers.

Dexter buries his face in Deb's hair and inhales, taking in her musky scent. "Ugh, Deb, you stink."

"Hey!" She objects, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. "I smell like _you_."

He scrunches up his nose, makes a show of sniffing himself. "Hmm, you're right. What could we possibly do about that?"

"I think I've got a pretty good idea." Deb replies, tickling her arm up the length of his arm, trying her hand at seduction.

Dexter rises to his feet in one elegant motion, tossing his squealing companion over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the bathroom.

He lets Deb take the reins this time and she loves him for it, finally making good on the promise she made to herself before he decided to take matters in his own hands.

She can hardly believe it, how free she feels. Her heart isn't so heavy anymore, her outlook not so bleak. For the first time in a long time, Debra Morgan is happy.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Let me start off by saying how sorry am for taking like another fucking month to update. Lol I swear that wasn't my intention at all, and I thought about you guys every single day but unfortunately life got in the way, and this writing thing definitely isn't as easy as it looks! **

**I want to reply to all of your comments but I think I'm just going to keep this brief and leave you all with a massive thank you for being patient with me and still bothering to read this! ****I'm planning for Chapter 7 to be the last (though here's a stupid fact about me that absolutely no one asked for: I have always _hated_ the number 7 for some reason, so a part of me wants to extend this to 8 chapters for that reason alone haha) but who knows with me, depending on how the writing process goes, it could end up a little longer. Also my rewrite of Argentina should be going up pretty soon after I finish this one, if any of you are into that :)**

**Anyway, without further ado, here's Chapter 6. I hope it was worth the wait! There may be more Debster sex and even some fluff to show you guys how sorry I am ;) Apologies if there are any typos. It's almost 2 AM but I really wanted to get this up.**

**Reviews are love! xo **

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Mornings have never been good for Deb. More often than not, she'd wake with a frown on her face and a sick sense of dread bubbling low in her belly, so sure that something fierce and unmistakably terrible would be waiting for her. Ready to swallow her whole, to drag her back to the depths where she belongs once she actually mustered up enough courage to face the day.

There were times when she couldn't even do so much as that, choosing instead to cower away in whatever shithole motel was close enough to the watering hole she would be spending most of her time in on that particular week. She wasn't proud of it, but that was her life after New Year's. That was how she thought it would stay.

But this morning…this morning is different. This morning is sunshine peeking through the curtains as the undulating ocean waves sing their tranquil song. This morning is Dexter's strong arms wrapped around her waist, his steady breathing keeping time with hers. This morning is the calm, except this time, there is no inevitable storm lurking somewhere in the distance.

Deb smiles. If this is how things were going to be from here on out, she could get used to mornings.

Truthfully, a small part of her expected Dexter to be gone by now. In the back of her mind she imagined him running off on her in the middle of the night, too ashamed to face her after realizing what a massive mistake it had been to sleep with her again. But her fears prove to be just that as Dexter tightens his hold on her middle and buries his face in her hair. He inhales deeply and exhales a melodic sigh, his breath tickling the back of her neck.

"Oh, hey..." Deb says, turning to face him. "Did I wake you?"

"Morning." Dexter blinks once, twice, and lets out a contagious yawn before making eye contact with her. "Oh yeah, I guess you did. But I don't mind."

His words are slightly slurred, his eyes half closed with fatigue, but the smile that he greets her with is all warmth and invitation.

Deb bites down on her lip, gazing at him nervously. "I gotta tell you, Dex, I'm not sure what is supposed to come after this."

"What do you mean?" He asks, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. It's a move so unexpectedly charming that she feels all of the blood in her body rush to that very spot and forces herself to turn away from him in embarrassment.

"_I mean_ that this is technically the morning after and I have no idea how to act around you right now. Maybe I'd have half a fucking clue if you hadn't run out on me before, but I don't have that luxury." She rants. "I've had plenty of morning afters in my life, but none of them were with my fucking _brother_! I –"

"Hey," Dexter interjects, putting his hand on her chin and turning her around to face him again. "_Hey_, It's okay, Deb. I'm not leaving you. Never again, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you." She replies, a hesitant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "And I think I might be crazy enough to believe you, too."

"I guess we're all pathological in our own way…" He considers. "Still, you're no crazier than I am."

"Ah, but you're a sick fuck." Deb laughs. "I guess we are both pretty fucked up, huh?"

"Of course we are." Dexter says, chuckling. "Let's just take this slow. There's no right or wrong way to handle this. I'd say it's a pretty unique situation. Unless there are other serial killers who have fallen in love with their foster sister that I should know about."

Deb gives him a playful shove before climbing out of bed. She makes her way over to the window, opening the curtains so the sun can wash over her. The heat feels comforting across her bare skin, considering the fact that just about every inch of her body is exposed with the exception of the parts hidden by her nightshirt.

Dexter moves in silence and suddenly appears at her side, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What time is it?" He asks.

She looks to the clock on her bedside table. "Um…10:30. _Crap_! It's 10:30!? Dexter, Jamie is going to end up calling CPS on your ass one of these days. Did you seriously dump Harrison on the nanny all night?"

"Relax, Deb. Jamie agreed to watch Harrison until later this afternoon. She loves spending time with him."

"Oh, so this was all a part of your master plan, then?" The accusation trickles teasingly from her tongue. She places one hand on her hip, raises an eyebrow ever so slightly. "Force you way into my house and then get me all alone?"

"Something like that." He mischievously replies. "Hey, do you have an extra tooth brush?"

"Yeah. Bathroom cabinet, right hand side." Deb answers.

Dexter walks over to the adjoining bathroom and Deb takes the opportunity to make herself look somewhat presentable. She brushes the knots from her hair, throws on a t-shirt, and has a pair of jean shorts pulled halfway up her legs when Dexter suddenly appears in the doorway. His hands are hidden behind his back and an all-knowing look is painted across his face. What he could possibly know, Deb has no clue.

"What!?" She snaps, giving up on the shorts and letting them fall to the floor. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing…just one of your toys." He answers, brandishing a rather large baby pink vibrator. There's a devious sparkle in his eyes that Deb enjoys more than she'd ever admit.

"Well, you know…sometimes there are dry spells…" She smirks, folding her arms across her chest.

"And during those dry spells…you would think about me?"

"What?" She asks, her cheeks taking on a not-so-subtle shade of red.

"When you touched yourself, did you imagine that it was me instead? Touching you?"

"D-Dex, you're being really fucking weird." She laughs, flustered.

Dexter sits the vibrator down on top of the nearest dresser and glides over to Deb, resting one hand at her hip and the other on her shoulder. "How did I touch you?"

"Dexter…"

"I just want to make you happy. I want to take back all of that lost time." He says.

"We can't get back lost time, Dexter. What's done is done." Deb declares, her eyes downcast.

He sighs. "And what about the here and now?"

"Well that's a completely different story, isn't it?" She smiles. "Come here. I might have an idea on how you can finish making everything up to me."

They lean in to each other in one fluid motion, one meeting the other half way. Deb tilts her head to the right, lets her lips join his in a tender kiss. Dexter is the one to deepen the kiss, his unusually smooth lips gliding over hers in a way that sends shivers down her spine.

His effect on her is a marvelous one, and despite the morning breath and the irksome ache deep in her bones thanks to the roughness of these past few days, she feels her nipples starting to harden through her t-shirt, can hear her heart pounding against her chest, begging for release.

Deb finds pleasure in his curious exploration of her body. After a brief hesitation he lets his hands travel downward until he cups her ass, his grip firm and possessive. She relishes in the feeling of his palms against her skin; the calloused hands of a hunter newly tamed.

Dexter walks her backward until he has her pressed against the nearest wall with no chance of escape. He takes her rosy bottom lip in between his teeth and bites down hard as he grinds his pelvis against her heated core. The friction brings with it a sweet sort of agony that soon starts to border on unbearable, a pair of panties the only thing standing in between Deb and what she truly needs.

As Dexter's confidence builds, one of his hands leaves its resting place to reach down between her legs instead. Two fingers torturously circle the wet patch that has begun to form on the crotch of Deb's panties, eliciting a breathy moan from her as she breaks the kiss so she can do a little exploring of her own. For some reason she feels herself drawn to his jawline and so she kisses him there, reveling in the way his body trembles against her lips.

His naughty hand slips away again, coming to rest on flat Deb's stomach before his deft fingers can bring her careening over the edge in record time. He gives and he takes and he takes and he gives, and Deb can't bring herself to feel anything but love for the man who knows her better than she knows herself. Still, she wishes he would stop being such a fucking tease.

Dexter groans his appreciation when Deb kisses down the length of his neck and starts to suck at his collarbone, leaving wet hot trails of saliva along the enflamed skin there. She feels his pulse starting to quicken against her lips, can hear the desperate sounds he makes as she trails her tongue even lower, and it makes her feel powerful somehow. Dominant. But he puts an end to her ministrations halfway through, latching onto the back of her head and pulling her back up to his eyelevel.

Deb looks into his eyes, half-lidded with lust, and feels a current travel through her. It tickles the tips of her toes and lights a fire low in her belly; a fire that she's recently come to realize can only be put out by the feeling of Dexter's lips on hers.

She leans in closer to let him put out that fire, but his kiss only serves to fan the flames. She doesn't mind though. No, she doesn't mind one bit.

"When I was alone…" Deb murmurs into his open mouth, her breaths coming sharp and hot as they entwine with his. "…you touched me like _this_."

She takes control of one of his arms, forcing his hand back down to that aching spot between her legs so he can feel her again, the cotton fabric of her panties now practically soaked through with need.

"God…" He sighs against her lips, pushing her panties to the side so he can slide a single finger inside of her. He adds a second finger once he feels her walls starting to loosen around the first, sliding them in and out of her wetness in a 'come here' motion.

She pleads for more and he dutifully obliges, switching up his technique in favor of short, circular movements with his fingers that make her cry out in strangled gasps of pleasure. His thumb finds its way to her clit, first rubbing gently at the sensitive spot and then gradually applying more pressure according to what the volume of her moans demands.

After an extended period of slow and steady motions he quickens his pace and Deb feels her knees starting to buckle. Though she loves what he's doing to her, he's bound to have her coming hard and fast if she lets him keep this up much longer.

Deb reaches for his wrist, wrapping her hand around it and with a whimper, he stops. She immediately misses his touch but knows that they'll get back to it soon enough. She can't help but feel that she's been ignoring what Dexter needs and so she turns her attention to him, smirking when she reaches out to feel his cock pressed hard against her hand, straining against the material of his plaid boxer shorts.

It almost feels surreal to touch him like this, the way she'd envisioned herself doing a thousand times before. She remembers late nights with Briggs, her eyes slammed shut and her mind running wild. She remembers the man's hands splayed across her hips, not as big as Dexter's but still big enough to pretend. She remembers his voice ringing in her ears, calling her _baby_, calling her _darlin'_; words too sweet to ever leave Dexter's lips but still, she could pretend. But now there is no pretending. Now there just _is_. Now there is Dexter's strong hands holding tight onto her waist. Now there is Dexter moaning low in her ear, saying nothing but somehow saying it all. And now she doesn't miss the temporary sweetness, no, she doesn't miss it one bit; not when this is so much better.

To feel truly connected to him, for them to come together as one, is all that she has ever wanted. And though sex isn't everything, it sure as fuck helps.

Deb yanks Dexter's boxers down past his hips, much too eager to feel him to bother taking things slow. She wraps her hand around his throbbing cock, expertly moving her fist up and down his shaft at a steady pace, roughing it up on him when he seems to be getting a little too comfortable with her technique.

He lets her build him to an unexpectedly premature climax, spilling the remnants of his lust into her hand with a languid sigh.

Deb looks into his eyes and sees his look of ecstasy vanish, his features sinking with embarrassment. But she doesn't know why he would ever feel that way with her.

"Fuck. Sorry." Dexter says, cringing.

"Don't apologize." She replies, her hand returning to his length. "It was kinda hot."

"That was hot to you?" He asks in disbelief, a genuine look of confusion on his face. "_Really_?"

"Fuck yes." Deb insists. "Do it again."

She takes his partial erection in her hand, giving him a few more quick strokes. She can already feel him starting to harden again. Deb would never call herself greedy, but she better well be getting fucked before the morning is through. She'll play her part in that more than gladly, but she yearns to feel that pressure between her legs again, aches at the thought of Dexter entering her slowly but surely, making her feel perfectly filled.

She can feel his cock hard and ready now. He mutters her name under his breath and she releases him, leaving him dangling feet away from the edge. She doesn't want to make him come again. Well, not yet anyway.

"_Hey_." Dexter groans, desperate for her.

But Deb turns away from him and starts toward the bathroom with a dramatic sway of her hips, conscious of his heated gaze as it hangs on to her every move.

She hears him approaching as she stands at the sink and washes her hands, her eyes fixed on the mirror in front of her. She smirks when she sees him appear behind her through the glass, gasping when he comes close enough to press his erection against her ass.

His hands grip her hips and she grabs onto the faucet for support, her heart racing as Dexter's fingers dance along the hem of her panties, taunting her when all she wants him to do is rip the garment from her hips.

"Fuck me…" She all but begs, her eyes finding his in the mirror.

"What was that?" He asks, continuing to play the tease, much to her dismay.

"I said _fuck me_, Dexter." She growls. "Do it. Fuck me. Like this."

Deb reaches behind her for one of his hands and snakes it beneath her t-shirt, placing it on her chest. Dexter cups her small breast, strums a finger across her hardened nipple. Her hips wriggle towards him, a wordless demand. He comes closer than she'd even thought possible, grinding against her. She doesn't know how much more of this torment she can take.

Dexter bends her over suddenly as if he can hear her very thoughts; and truth be told that wouldn't surprise her in the slightest, given how in sync they always seem to be. He tugs her panties off of her hips and lets them fall to the floor. She steps out of them, hurriedly kicking the fabric clear across the room and arching her back as he positions himself at her entrance.

He pushes into her at a pace that's agonizingly slow and she takes him one inch at a time, adjusting around his thickness with relative ease. After she's taken all of him he sucks in a sharp breath, unmoving. She feels utterly and completely filled as remains still inside of her, but he's taking too long. She wants him to fuck her already. She_ needs_ him to.

She lifts one leg slightly to accommodate him, and Dexter's breath is heavy as he exhales against her neck. Resting one of his hands on her ass, he slowly starts to pull out, the other still kneading her tender breast.

"Faster, Dex." Deb pants. "Let me feel you."

He obeys her command, pulling out completely and then plunging back inside of her. She screams as he leans in closer to latch onto her shoulder with his teeth, biting down, marking her as his. The thought makes her feel strangely warm inside.

He rises so he can look into the mirror and meet her gaze, their eye contact unfaltering as Dexter's impassioned thrusts become faster, more frantic.

"_Yesssss_…" She hisses as he grinds against her, tugging desperately at her nipple.

Dexter's hand leaves her breast and she immediately misses the feeling. She loves it when he's gentle but she loves it just as much when he's rough. She loves it when he is completely real with her, when he abandons all pretense and unleashes the beast that he so often keeps locked away.

Dexter wraps his hands around her hair, grabbing a handful of bleached strands and he pulls, the both of them grunting in unison as he drives himself deeper inside of her wet heat. Deb grinds her hips against him, backing up to meet him halfway with each thrust.

Without warning he pulls out of her completely, leaving her feeling oddly incomplete. Before she has time to protest he latches onto her waist and spins her around to face him, lifting her up and onto the sink as he pulls her into a rushed kiss.

He pulls away and drops his head lower so that his lips can find her neck. Deb giggles at the light tickle of his lips against her sensitive skin, every sensation heightened as she teeters impossibly close to orgasm. He continues to kiss down her neck and down past her collarbone until finally he reaches her right breast, taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. He gives her left nipple the same treatment and Deb reaches for him, tugging at his hair as he sucks and licks at her flesh with an amazing level of expertise. Who would've thought that her lab geek brother was such a good lay?

Dexter bites down on her nipple and she cries out at the unexpected pain that surges through her like an electric shock. The sink feels hard and a little uncomfortable against her bare ass, but none of that matters once Dexter grabs onto her hips, angling her towards him. He holds his cock in his hand, aligning himself at her entrance. Deb spreads her legs wider to make it easier for him and Dexter slams into her with no hesitation whatsoever, making her breath hitch in the back of her throat. There are a few brief moments before the pain starts to bleed with the pleasure, his thrusts coming so fast and hard that she loses herself in the process, throwing her head back and banging it roughly up against the mirror.

The slapping sound of skin against skin fills the air as he gives her everything he's got, fucking her as if for the very last time. The thought that knowing them lately it very well could be crosses her mind but she pushes it away, tries to focus on the sound of his labored breathing and the way he calls her name as he gets closer to climax.

She knows that she's about to cross the threshold and her arms move of their own accord, her hands sliding free from his sun kissed locks to wrap around his broad frame. She digs her fingernails harshly into the thick muscles of his back as he maintains his feverish rhythm, panting her name with every stroke.

With a few more desperate thrusts of Dexter's hips, Deb's orgasm finally hits her. As the waves surge through her she goes dark in both ears, hearing nothing but feeling everything. She doesn't care because she's floating, soaring through the void with only Dexter there to tether her back to reality. She clutches onto him for dear life, her fingernails drawing blood from the slick skin of his back.

Dexter leans down, burying his face in the crook of her neck as her walls start to clench around him. She gradually returns to her senses as the aftereffects of her orgasm start to melt away, her breathing starting to even out after a few more minutes of ecstasy.

"Fuck…" She sighs, smirking at Dexter when he lifts his head to look her in the eyes.

"Yeah." He says, pulling carefully out of her wetness and returning her smile with a beautiful one of his own.

He yanks a towel off of the nearby rack and crouches down before Deb, tenderly wiping away the stickiness between her legs. Though she's almost completely come down from her high she still feels elevated somehow, every brush of Dexter's fingertips against her thighs sending shockwaves to her heart. She left all of that cheesy romantic shit behind years ago with Rudy's ring, but still, she appreciates his tender touch. She catches herself getting lost in the normalcy of it all, in the sense of calm that is so unlike them.

Dexter sits back on his haunches once he's done wiping her clean and Deb joins him, plopping down on the cool tiled floor directly across from him. She sits with one leg folded under and the other elongated, her foot pressed against his. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, but Deb catches Dexter staring at her only to immediately look away one too many times to believe that there isn't something on his mind.

"I need to tell you something." He finally admits, his voice trembling with each word.

"Anything." Deb replies. She hopes that her declaration sounds confident to his ears, but the truth is that she's scared. She doesn't know what else he could have possibly been keeping from her all this time. She doesn't know if she even _wants_ to know at this point.

"It's about my brother. I know you try not to think about him much these days, but I –"

Her jaw clenches at the mere mention of the name. "Oh, him? I hope he's having fun in hell. I heard they've got killer Wi-Fi down there."

She doesn't want to talk about that man – not now, not _ever_ – but if she and Dexter are going to truly put everything on the table, she knows that she has to hear him out on this.

Deb watches his face contort into an apologetic frown, that look of pity in his eyes that she'd sometimes notice in passing whenever she'd say or do something that managed to tug on his heartstrings. "Just say it, Dexter."

"You know how much I love you, right?" Dexter asks, trying to sidestep her demand and avoid the topic he was responsible for bringing up in the first place.

"Careful, don't pitch a tent." Deb says, leering at him. "Stop pussyfooting around here and just say what the fuck you were going to say, Dexter. Fucking hell!"

He sighs. "I just…you know that I'd do anything for you, right? That I always have and that I always will?"

"Of course I do, Dex."

"Well then I guess I have to be completely honest with you on this. I kept it from you all of these years because I didn't think you needed to know, but I don't want any more secrets between us after today. After everything, Brian didn't commit suicide. He…I…"

"You killed him."

"What?" He asks, slack-jawed. "H-how long have you known?"

"I think a small part of me has always known. The way he talked to me, after he took me…" Deb pauses, waits for the lump in her throat to pass, for the burning deep in her chest to wither away. She doesn't have any tears left to spare for the man who tried to break her. What matters is that he failed, because she's still here. Maybe there are a few screws missing here and there, but she's still fucking _here_.

She continues on with a queasy smile. "He seemed too cocky to ever consider offing himself. It's like…he would have never let someone else win. But after everything, they told me that he killed himself and I accepted it, because what else could I do? I didn't want to spare him another thought. I couldn't let him keep terrorizing me from the grave, you know? Suicide or murder, it shouldn't have made any difference to me because the motherfucker was dead and he couldn't hurt me or some other poor girl ever again. But still, it never sat right with me, Dex. And after I found out that he was your brother…I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. I mean, you're my big brother, and you've always protected me…but I could never believe that you were capable of that. No, never that; so I wrote it off as a stupid thought from a hysterical woman who'd just been kidnapped by her fiancé and somehow managed to avoid being cut into pieces. But it stayed with me somehow, under the surface where I couldn't reach it…or maybe where I just never wanted to go."

Dexter doesn't say anything; instead he waits for her with open arms. Deb takes her place in his arms and lets him hold her, feeling safe and protected in his embrace despite how exposed she is.

"Thank you." She mutters, wrapping one of her arms securely around his middle so she can snuggle closer into his warmth. "…for saving me. He was your brother, fucked up serial killer or not. I know how hard that must've been for you."

"I won't lie to you. It was…difficult, at first. But I made my choice. And I made the right one." He says. "You're my family, Debra. You and Harrison. To have you here with me…it's all I want. You're all I need in this world."

"And you're all I need." Deb smiles. "I love you. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you, Dex. You know that?"

"Stop."

"No, I'm being fuckin' honest here. This isn't just about Brian. After LaGuerta…it was bad, really bad. All of the boozing and the sex and the drugs…I was numb, in the worst way possible. I don't care what I told you before, because it was a lie. I _was_ lost; but you found me, and I don't know where I'd be if you didn't. Don't you ever dare leave me, Dexter."

"What? Why would you even say that, Deb? We'll always be together, you know that."

"It's just…you're the only one who hasn't abandoned me. Sometimes I wonder what's so wrong with me, that everyone has to leave…you're all I have left, and sometimes I just get scared…"

"Deb, listen to me. I'm never going to leave you, alright? _Never_." He replies, placing a quick kiss at the top of her head. "If anything I should be worried about you coming to your senses and leaving me."

"If I were ever _really_ going to leave you I would've chopped off my hair, taken on a new name, and moved to another country by now, fuckface." She smirks. "It's always been you and me, Dexter. When we're good we're great and when we're bad we're a fucking disaster; but God help me, somehow that's good, too."

Dexter pulls her tighter against him. "We've been through so much together, and if our experiences have taught me anything, it's that being in each other's lives…it isn't a choice." He says. "I can't live without you, and that's all I know for sure."

"And I can't live without you, so it looks like we're stuck with each other, huh?"

"There's no one I'd rather be stuck with…even if you are a major thorn in my side sometimes."

"Hey!" Deb laughs, unlacing herself from her brother so she can give him a playful shove. "I'm not the one who goes and risks my life on a daily fucking basis. You don't know how much sleep I could catch up on if I didn't have to worry over your dumb ass every day, Dexter."

"You've dedicated your life to hunting down hardened criminals, Deb. _You_, my skinny little sister. You risk your life more often than I do. If anyone should be worried, it's me. And oh, do I worry. I don't think there has been a day where I _haven't_ been worried about you."

"I'm not _that _skinny…" she scowls. "But that's beside the point. I haven't been out in the field in ages, so I don't want to hear any of that worrying shit. Don't you even try to play the 'who's more reckless' game with me, because spoiler alert, it's you."

"Okay, _okay_." He acquiesces, pulling her back into his arms. "But Deb…this monster, it's not what I want to be. I need you to know that."

"You're not a monster, Dexter. You know I could never see you in that way."

"But I'm a killer. How can you see me any differently than Brian? Deep down, are we really all that different?"

"You're nothing like he was, Dex. You're kind, and compassionate, and _good_." Deb insists. "And you're mine."

She looks up at him, craning her neck so her lips can meet his in a kiss that's short and sweet.

"I'm never going to be okay with what you do. I could never support it the way you probably need me to, but I support _you_. I love you too much not to."

"Deb, I don't need anything from you except what you're willing to give me, and you've given me too much already. I could never ask you to change who you are at your core for me. You've always been true to yourself. That's one of the things I love most about you."

Deb smiles. "You know, it's stupid, but I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing that…"

"Hearing what?"

"That you love me." Deb answers, beaming from ear to ear. "Say it again."

"Debra Morgan, I love you." Dexter states, his voice booming off the walls thanks to the acoustics in the bathroom. He makes a show of lifting her into his arms and carrying her back into the bedroom bridal style. It's so adorable that Deb thinks she might throw up a little. "I love you more than my son loves red popsicles. And that's a hell of a lot."

"Oh great, another junk food metaphor." Deb says, jokingly rolling her eyes at him. "I can't believe I used to think that the M&amp;M's line was your creative peak. Now I've got popsicles."

"Well, red _is_ the best flavor. That should make you feel pretty special, I think." Dexter smirks, dropping Deb from his arms. She plops down on the bed, barely able to contain her laughter.

"Fuck you!" She exclaims.

"Okay." Dexter says, his voice gruff and oddly appealing.

He climbs into bed and on top of her, pulling her lips into a searing kiss.

Yeah, Deb can _definitely_ get used to mornings.

* * *

Deb stands on the top step, teetering back and forth as Dexter fumbles stupidly with his keys. She doesn't know what the fuck she has to be so nervous about anyway. Harrison is her nephew for God's sake, and he's barely even six years old; but the thought of spending the afternoon with him worries her. What if he doesn't want to see her anymore? What if he can sense that she's done something bad? What if –

"Deb, relax." Dexter says, interrupting her mid-thought. It's probably for the best; she was born with the gift of jumping to the worst possible conclusion and running with it. Who knows what she would've come up with next?

Deb takes a deep breath before turning to face her brother. "What makes you think I'm not relaxed?"

"Well for starters, your nails are currently digging a hole into my arm…keep it up and someone's going to think you're abusing me." He says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, sorry." She apologizes, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I'm just –"

"Nervous. I know." He finishes. "But there's nothing to be nervous about, Deb. Harrison misses you, I wasn't lying about that. He's been asking for you ever since yesterday, when he noticed that your car was still in the driveway."

Dexter gets the door open and gestures for Debra to step inside of the apartment. She shakes her head and he walks in ahead of her, calling out to his son.

Jamie comes out of the kitchen with Harrison in tow; big, matching smiles on both of their faces.

"Hey Dex! Hey Deb." Jamie greets them, dropping Harrison's hand so he can run the short distance to where they are both waiting for him.

He latches onto Deb's leg and she gasps in surprise, taken aback by the child's excitement towards her.

"I missed you, buddy." She says, crouching down to affectionately tousle his hair.

"I missed you too, Aunt Deb." He says. "We were waiting, what took so long?"

"Yeah, Dex. It's 12:30 now." Jamie chimes in. "I thought we agreed on 11:00?"

There's a friendly smile on her face but it's obvious that the girl is annoyed with him and Deb doesn't blame her. Dexter takes a ridiculous amount of advantage of her and she knows it, but she's too nice to actually say anything about it. It's a shame really. When Deb was her age, she vaguely remembers having a life outside of work.

"Sorry, Jamie. I got here as fast as I could. But Deb and I just had to take care of a little something first…" Dexter replies.

"Is everything alright? This might be rude to say, but you two are looking a little flushed." Jamie says, looking Deb up and down in a way that makes her feel self-conscious.

"Well, Dex was just helping me with a little home improvement." Deb responds, feeling an uncomfortable heat start to spread across her neck, lighting up the hickies there like the end of a firefly. (Well, in her mind anyway) "I ended up doing most of the work, of course. That's my brother, forever clueless."

"Uh huh…" Jamie nods, that fake smile returning to her face in full force. "Okay, well you guys have fun! I'm late for class, so I should probably get going."

Dexter reaches into his pocket and produces a sizeable stack of bills. "Again, Jamie, I am so sorry about this. There's an extra hundred in there for your trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble. A little warning next time would be nice, though." Jamie says, putting the money in her purse. "But thank you so much, Dexter. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

She says her goodbyes to Deb and Harrison as she makes her way out of the door, and Deb waits until she sees her car pull out of the lot to open her mouth again.

"An extra hundred dollars? _Whoa_, look out; we've got a big spender over here." She says. "So I guess that means you're going to be treating me and Harrison over here to something pretty fucking fancy today. Huh, moneybags?"

"Yeah, pretty fucking fancy!" Harrison repeats, always a little_ too _eager to mimic the adults around him.

"Harrison, what did I tell you about listening to what Aunt Deb says?" Dexter asks, switching over to the 'dad voice'. Hearing him use that voice always makes Deb feels strangely proud of him. And maybe a little aroused...

"Close your ears when Aunt Deb talks..." Harrison answers. "…because she has a potty mouth!"

"Exactly." Dexter replies, scooping the little boy up and into his arms. "So I better not hear that word from you ever again, are we clear?"

"Yes, daddy." He says, giving Dexter a quick peck on the cheek.

"Just how often do you tell your kid to ignore me, Dexter?" Deb playfully asks. "Pretty soon he's going to realize how cool I am and how cool you're _not_, and when that happens, I smell a rebellion on the horizon."

"Debra, he's six. I think teenage angst is a long ways away."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." Deb replies, flashing him a mocking smile.

She makes her way over to the couch and sinks down onto it with a sigh, her entire body still a bit sore after this morning (and last night).

She can't help but go over Jamie's words in her mind again. _Uh huh_…what the fuck was that supposed to mean, anyway? She noticed something was off with them, but that doesn't automatically mean that it was _that _something…does it?

Deb is immediately snapped right out of her thoughts by at least fifty pounds of toddler landing heavy in her lap like a sack of potatoes, knocking the breath right out of her lungs.

"_Oof_!" She says, exaggerating the sound a little to make Harrison laugh.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Deb." He says, wrapping his arms around her neck and pulling her into a warm hug. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay baby, I'll be fine." Deb replies. "But wow are you getting big!"

"Yeah, daddy says that pretty soon I won't even have to ride in the car seat!"

"Oh, now that's exciting news!" Deb coos, peppering kisses across his plump cheeks. "How does riding shotgun with Aunt Deb sound?"

"I never said that." Dexter chimes in, coming to sit on the couch beside Deb. "I specifically remember saying that the car seat isn't going anywhere. And shotgun? Deb, no. _No_."

Harrison pouts at his father and Deb copies his expression, poking out her bottom lip and batting her eyes at Dexter.

"But I hate the baby seat!" The toddler whines.

"Ugh, dads are no fun. Right Harrison?" Deb asks after Dexter rolls his eyes at the two of them.

"What was your daddy like, Aunt Deb?" Harrison wonders, sliding out of her lap so he can squish himself into the small space between Deb and Dex. "I wish I could meet him, but daddy says that grandpa is in heaven with my mom."

Deb gulps. "We don't, uh, we don't really talk about my dad, Harrison. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" Harrison asks, looking wide-eyed and curious.

Deb turns away from him, letting her hair fall into her eyes to shield her face from the boy. She doesn't want to keep Harrison in the dark about Harry forever; after all, doesn't every kid have the right to know _something_ about their grandparents? About their history? But what is there that she can possibly tell him? Where would she even start?

'_My dear old dad helped teach your dad how to kill people and avoid getting caught!' _certainly wouldn't make for a good conversation starter, but _'he spent the last decade of his life ignoring me!'_ also isn't much better.

Dexter takes a deep breath and is about to swoop in and save Deb like he has so many times before, but she swallows her pride and decides to talk to him herself. She turns back around to face Harrison with a tight-lipped smile. "Harry wasn't the best father, not like your daddy is…"

Dexter turns to Deb with gratitude in his eyes and she returns his look. He reaches across Harrison to give her thigh a light squeeze that Deb greatly appreciates, motivating her to keep going. She sighs, and then continues on.

"But what matters is that he loved me. Your grandpa loved me and your father very much, and he dedicated his life to keeping us and the people in this city safe."

"He was a cop like you. Wasn't he, Aunt Deb?" Harrison asks.

"He was, buddy." Deb answers. She ignores the fact that she isn't actually a cop anymore, because he doesn't need to hear that. Not until he's older, anyway. "Harry was actually the reason I became a detective in the first place. I wanted to know that I could make him proud of me."

"He is." Her nephew replies, sounding so confident and so sure of himself that for a second, Deb actually thinks she could believe him. "His name was Harry? Did you name me after him?"

"Yeah, Harrison, we did." Dexter smiles, finding Deb's eyes with his own. "Harry would've loved you."

"That's nice…but I'm hungry!" Harrison declares, leaping off of the couch to run into the kitchen.

Deb admires the ability to hop from one subject to the next that can only exist in children. How freeing it must feel to monkey bar from one thing to the next with nothing but a scab to show for it. A scab that will later be kissed away by your mother or father, and then it's on to the next thing. Unlike Harrison, Deb's scabs have become scars, and scars don't disappear quite so easily.

"Hey, no running in the kitchen!" Dexter yells. "You know the rules!"

"But I'm hungry!" Harrison shouts, yanking open the refrigerator door and practically climbing inside of it.

"Okay, Harrison, suit yourself. I was going to take the entire family out to eat, but me and Aunt Deb could always just go without you…"

"Not a chance!" He replies, slamming the fridge door shut. "I'm gonna go get ready!"

"Fine, but you better hurry up before we leave you!" Dexter calls out after him. "Go put on your good pants!"

Harrison runs into his room, making exaggerated heavy breaths the entire way there for the two of them to hear.

"Aww, Dex, you didn't have to scare him." Deb laughs. "He probably thinks we're really going to leave him."

"No he doesn't. But it's alright, he enjoys playing along."

"Yeah, I can tell." She says. "Look, don't take this as me getting soft on you or anything –"

"Soft isn't the first word I'd use to describe you, but now that you mention it…" Dexter interrupts.

"Could you just shut the fuck up and let me have my moment please?"

"The moment is now yours." He declares with a dramatic gesture of his hands that makes Deb want to laugh; but she fights the urge because she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

She rolls her eyes at Dexter and lays back, stretching herself out on the couch and resting her head in his lap.

"I don't know, it's just…being with you two like this, it finally feels like we're family again. A _real _family." She says. "I wish that we could stay like this forever."

"Well, who says that we can't?"

"Dexter…"

"Deb, just hear me out for a second. I know that we can be destructive, but we don't _have_ to be."

"What the fuck are you on about now, Dexter?"

"I'm saying that maybe we _can_ stay like this if we try to. Why shouldn't we have a chance to be happy just like everyone else does?"

"I _am_ happy."

"Yeah, for now. But I want to make sure that your happiness isn't temporary anymore. You deserve the world and I want to give it to you."

"I don't need the world from you, Dexter. Just this."

"Now you and I both know that isn't true. Deb, if I keep killing, could you ever truly be happy again? Could things be like they were before?"

"I'm not going to lie to you…but I _am_ happy now. Just…in a different way." She says. "I've had to make whatever peace I possibly could with what you do, because try as I fucking might, it's like I can't even function without you. I tried to help you stop but I failed, so now all that we can do is find our own definition of happiness…whatever that is."

"But that was before Vogel, before everything. These sessions with her have taught me a lot, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe they were wrong about me…What if Harry didn't kill himself because he couldn't handle what seeing my mother killed made me become, but because he thought that what he and Vogel molded me into couldn't be reversed?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If what you think I'm saying is that I'm not a psychopath at all, that maybe I don't have to kill? Then yes, I'm saying what you think I'm saying."

"But Harry and Vogel creating their own personal killing machine? Dexter, that's insane."

"I'm not saying that they did it with evil intent, Deb. Harry did think that there was something seriously wrong with me, something broken beyond repair, so he took me to Vogel because he loved me and he couldn't bear to see me carted off to some asylum. And Vogel, well, she'd probably never seen anything like me before…psychopathy was a logical conclusion to draw."

"_Logical_?" Deb snorts. "Fuck logical. I never bought any of that doctor-y mumbo jumbo that Vogel spouted when it came to you. Not for a second. You're not like any of those crazy fuckjobs that I had to hunt down when I was still on the force. You're Dexter, my big brother. You may be damaged in your own way, but you're not a psychopath."

"You really think that?"

"Always have."

"I think I'm starting to believe that too." He says, running his fingers lightly through Debra's hair. "Vogel keeps calling me a high functioning psychopath, and that's why she's so fascinated by our relationship. The way I feel about you, the fact that I can feel anything for you _at all_, goes completely against everything she once believed to be true. Me being in love with you means that I can't possibly be the creature she thought she helped me become. I thought that faking every interaction and every emotion was a part of my nature just as much as killing was, but I'm not faking anymore. I'm feeling more than I ever thought possible, and it's all because of you. My love may be selfish but it's _real_. So what does that mean? Does that mean that I can…"

"…that you can stop killing?" Deb finishes, lifting her head so she can properly face him.

She stands up and turns around, setting herself down into his lap with both knees resting on the couch cushions at either side of him.

"Dexter…" she continues, taking his face in her hands. "Are you sure?"

"I think I am." He answers. "At the very least, I want to try."

Dex and Deb exchange a penetrating look – which, for them, is more like a wordless conversation – and he brings her in closer for a kiss. His hands hold tight onto her waist as he pulls her flush against him, and she can't help but grind against him desperately as desire surges through her. This is better than their previous kisses somehow. This kiss is soft and sweet and full of promise; and though it's a promise that Deb can't fully allow herself to believe in, as Dexter's soft lips glide against hers, she feels like maybe she could learn to do just that.

The pitter patter of tiny feet running across the hardwood floor pulls Deb back to reality. She mentally slaps herself for forgetting where she was for a moment, and then rolls out of Dexter's lap and onto the floor with a thud. She hopes that Harrison hadn't seen them tonguing each other down just now. The last thing the kids needs is to be traumatized for a second time before he even makes it to his tenth birthday.

"Aunt Deb, why are you on the floor?"

"Oh, uh, daddy was just being clumsy and he tripped me. Nothing to worry about, Harrison."

"Okay. Come on, let's go!"

Harrison grabs onto Deb's hand with one of his and reaches out for Dexter's with the other. His little arm can't quite reach so Dexter closes the distance between them, taking Harrison's hand so he can lead them both to the front door.

When they make it outside Deb reluctantly drops her nephew's hand. She watches as he and Dexter walk over to his car together and then she walks to her own car, still parked directly in front of the apartment where she left it before every piece of shit that could've possibly hit the fan did just that.

She reaches into her glove compartment and finds the pill she'd left there a couple of days ago, pondering over whether it's safe or not to take two of them so close together. With a shrug of her shoulders she pops the pill into her mouth and swallows it dry, making her way over to Dexter's car with a bit of a pep in her step.

She slides into the passenger's seat and then they're finally off. Dexter keeps his hand on her thigh during the entire drive and it makes her feel safe somehow, loved. He even blasts a bubblegum pop station so Harrison and Deb can sing along to the up-tempo songs at the top of their lungs; and even though he rolls his eyes and talks about how ridiculous they both look, Deb notices a little sparkle in his eye as they put on their little show. She even catches him joining in on the ridiculousness once or twice, but keeps her mouth shut, electing not to tease him for once in fear of ruining this perfect moment.

After the better part of an hour they pull into the parking lot of a place so fancy Deb wonders if Dexter drove to the wrong place by mistake. But he finds a free space and parks, stepping out of the car so he can go to the back and free Harrison from his car seat.

"Jesus, Dex. You could've warned me about all this." She says, smoothing her hands across her button down shirt with the hope of manually ironing out some of the wrinkles.

"About what?" He asks, forever clueless.

"I mean, this place looks kind of…extravagant. And in case you didn't notice, I kind of…_don't_."

"Stop it, Deb. You look beautiful."

Deb eyes widen in shock. She bows her head for a second to shield herself from his heated stare, and it almost feels as if her entire body is on fire. She remembers Dexter calling her beautiful with such sincerity only once before and it earned him the same reaction, because the word sounds so new coming from his lips. Just like mornings, though, she thinks she could get used to this, too.

"Yeah, whatever." Deb waves him away, tries to dismiss his compliment. But there's a fondness in her tone that she's sure Dexter catches on to.

"Okay, what are we standing around in the parking lot like a bunch of losers for?" She asks, stepping in between Dexter and Harrison so she can reach for both of their hands. "Let's go inside."

The three of them head inside and a waitress escorts them to their table. The lighting is obnoxiously dim for mid-afternoon, but Harrison seems particularly enamored with the chandelier that hangs just above their heads and that makes Deb smile.

The chairs are a beautiful cherry wood; and though Deb thinks of herself as more of a corner booth and plastic menus type of girl, saying that the cushioned seat feels like her ass is firmly planted on a little slice of heaven would be an understatement.

Dexter takes a seat directly across from her, and to Deb, this is starting to feel an awful lot like a date. Random patrons would probably be getting the same idea if not for the fussy toddler sitting beside Dexter, protesting over the booster seat that the waitress had to bring over for him.

He settles down once a menu is placed in front of him, though he doesn't even bother to look at it, telling his father that he wants chicken fingers.

"They don't have chicken fingers here, buddy. How about we try something new, yeah?" Dexter asks.

"Pasta is a safe bet for kids, right? Just get him that." Deb suggests.

"Yeah! I want that!" Harrison agrees.

The waitress comes and takes down all of their orders. Both Dexter and Deb go for the steak, exchanging sly glances at each other that makes the waitress smirk even though she can't possibly have any idea what makes a piece of fucking meat so significant.

"Oh, and can I have a glass of wine please?" Deb adds on before the woman turns away.

"Sure thing." She answers, quickly scribbling it down and walking away to deal with other guests.

"Deb, it's not even 2:00 o'clock yet." Dexter scolds her.

"Relax, I said _wine_. You're acting like I asked for hard liquor. I know how to control myself."

"Fine, but that's the only one."

"Yes sir!" She replies, bring her hand up to her head in a mock salute that has Harrison cracking up.

When the food (and Deb's wine) finally comes, they eat together like an actual family; listening intently to a story Harrison tells them about one of his classmates and the volcano she made for science class that blew up and ruined the table she'd sat it on.

Halfway through Harrison's enthralling tale one of Deb's feet accidentally finds Dexter's. Her eyes meet his and she flashes him a wicked smile, rubbing her foot against his again with intent this time. He catches her off guard by actually reciprocating, playing footsies with her underneath the table like a fucking teenager would. It's so stupid but Deb can't help but love the intimacy of it. Dexter has been surprising her a lot these past few days, it's like she's watching him change right before her eyes. She's curious what else he could possibly have in store.

They leave the restaurant with stuffed stomachs and fuller hearts, and after some begging from Harrison, Dexter agrees to take them all to the beach. They spend the day there, building sandcastles and laying in the shade. The taste of salt is in the air and it makes Deb feel even more at peace, and she knows that no matter what happens after this, no matter if Dexter can't keep his promise to her, they'll always have this. They'll always have each other.

Before they know it the day gives way to the night, and they reluctantly pile into the car and drive back to Dexter's. Deb didn't make any plans to come over but she knows that she doesn't wasn't to sleep alone, that she can't bear to be away from him again after today.

She carries a sleepy Harrison to his room and gets him ready for bed before crawling into bed beside Dexter and taking her place in his arms.

"I love you, Deb." He mumbles.

"Love you, too."

They drift away together just like that, the rising and falling of Dexter's chest beneath her lulling Deb to sleep.

* * *

"I was thinking…we should probably go and see Dr. Vogel today. After we drop off Harrison at school." Dexter states, buttoning up the last few buttons of his shirt.

"Dr. Vogel? Why?" Deb asks, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste as she watches Dexter fumble with his shirt through the mirror.

"I figure that she has a right to know about our, um, recent developments…" He explains. "Maybe she can even help us figure some things out. She's a psychiatrist, I'm pretty sure that's what she's here for."

"Yeah, but she was completely wrong about you. One might even say she ruined your life. I don't think she'll take that lightly."

"She isn't vindictive, Deb. If anything she'll jump at the chance to monitor my behaviors again. She hasn't seen anything like me before. It's an opportunity unlike any other."

"Well, as much as I'd love to go to family therapy, I can't keep flipping off Elway like I've been doing these past few days. It's a Monday, you know, the start of the work week and all."

"Well, I already took a half day at work…" Dexter says.

"Oh, so fuck me then?"

"Pretty much." Dexter chuckles.

He runs to his bedroom and Deb follows close behind, punching him playfully on the arm once she catches up to the slick bastard.

"Ow." He says, picking his cellphone up off of the bed and dialing Vogel's number.

He hits the speaker button so Deb can listen in, but the doctor doesn't pick up, and they're greeted by her machine instead. Dexter dials again but the result is the same.

"Hmm, that's odd." He says. "Well, there's no harm in stopping by her office. If she isn't there I'll just drop you off at work."

They scoop up Harrison and head to Dexter's car, dropping him off at school and then heading to Vogel's.

Dexter rings the doorbell and when there's no answer he rings it again. Deb can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong no matter how much she may want to. But while it's true that Vogel, in her own way, helped Deb claw out of rock bottom, a part of her wants to drag Dexter back to the car and never look back. They can hide under the covers and shut out the rest of the world, because after all, all they need is each other. And god fucking dammit, haven't they've earned that by now? But of course, with Dexter being Dexter, he can't just let shit go. He turns the knob and the door creaks open, the house ominously dark.

He steps inside and Deb reluctantly does the same, because wherever he goes, you bet your ass she'll follow.

She hears Dexter gasp before she can even see a thing. She comes around to stand at his side, taking in the bright blood spatter at his feet.

"All of a sudden there's a trail of bodies everywhere I turn." Dexter sighs.

"All of a sudden?" Deb deadpans. "Jesus, I'm sorry. Not the time, I know."

"Vogel's hurt…we have to find her, Deb." He says, his voice shaky with newfound nerves.

"Dexter, please, we don't have to jump to conclusions, maybe she isn't hurt. Maybe this isn't even her blood…"

"And who else's could it possibly be!?" He shouts, his voice so loud that Deb recoils.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Dexter says, turning to face her and placing both of his hands on her shoulders. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"I'm worried too, Dexter, but maybe it's best if we get out of here. We –"

Before Deb can finish her thought she catches some slight movement a few feet away. Out of the shadows steps someone Deb never thought she'd see again. Out of the shadows, a ghost emerges.

"_You?_ I-I thought I fucking killed you."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Yay for me not taking another month to update! lol I actually set a goal for myself to update this by the 4th, but the past two days kind of got away from me, so I apologize for that! Also, I kinda sorta intended for this to be the last chapter but of course it isn't :P**

**ROSEY cheeks, so glad you were a fan of the last chapter. I too love Debster sex and fluff, and I'm glad to have found people to share that love with :) I hope you like this chapter! ****Tom, ****I am so happy to hear that because whenever I get an email letting me know that someone has left a review I smile too, so it's nice to know that we're on the same wavelength here lol. Actually, if I'm remembering correctly, when I got the email for your review I was waiting for the bus and I had to try to keep a straight face in order to not look like a weirdo who randomly smiles at her phone. I hope you enjoy this chapter! ****Guest**** I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter! Don't worry, I hate Saxon too ;) ****DLovesDexter ****I hope this update was soon enough for you, and I hope that you dig this chapter! **

**I know that I broke my own pattern by using Deb's POV for this chapter, but she told me that it belonged to her and who am I to argue with her? haha! As always, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! xo**

* * *

Seeing a person that you supposedly killed a few days later; not being lowered into the ground where they belong but standing a few feet away, alive and in the flesh, can have quite the effect on a person.

While Deb was still on the force, she was regularly confronted by men twice her size, which would then force good old human instinct to kick in. In times like those, she had no other option but to answer the oldest question in the book. What's it going to be? Fight or flight?

Well, flight has never really been Deb's style. Not when found herself trapped in that bald piece of shit's twisted little maze, not when El Sapo decided that chivalry really was dead and beat the living crap out of her over some stolen jewelry...not even when she walked in on her dear big brother doing something that would change the both of them in ways that neither one of them could've possibly imagined. Yes, for as long as she can remember, Deb has always been a fighter, and she prides herself on that.

But something about being unarmed and possibly having to face Oliver Saxon again gives Deb pause. She's seen Dexter in action more often than she would have ever liked to and she's sure that between the two of them they can muster up enough strength to take that motherfucker down (again) and end this once and for all...but flight is an option for a reason, right?

Before she even has the time to make her final decision Saxon is gone, retreating like a cloud of smoke back into the abyss from which he came.

Though it's still fairly early in the morning the house is poorly lit, the curtains pulled tightly together, barely letting any light inside. She can hardly tell which direction Saxon disappeared in. It's eerie, how fast the menace can move, and for a second Deb finds herself questioning whether or not she'd actually seen him at all. Is it possible that he was actually all in her head? These past few months have been a whirlwind, and seeing things that aren't actually there could just be a natural extension of that stress. Or maybe she's just finally lost it.

But even if Saxon is some sort of apparition that has returned from the grave just to haunt her, the blood at Dexter's feet certainly isn't. It's very real, and by the looks of it, still very fresh.

"I should've killed him when I had the chance." Dexter declares, stepping protectively in front of Debra as if preparing to shield her from the invisible danger.

His voice is low and unusually calm, all things considered; but Deb can feel the quiet storm howling in the pit of his stomach. Being around him like this would probably scare any normal person, someone who doesn't know Dexter as intimately as she does. But how could she possibly be scared of him when his storm matches the one growing inside of her?

"Fuck, this is all my fault." She insists, placing an unsteady hand on her brother's shoulder. He turns around, his gaze automatically locking on hers. "I thought I killed him. No, I did kill him. I washed his blood from my hands. He was fucking dead, Dexter!"

"Your lacerations must have been a bit shallower than I initially thought. Surviving something like that isn't impossible with the proper medical attention, but it isn't very realistic, either. I didn't think that was a possibility for him. I was going to finish him off anyway, just to be sure, but I decided to let him suffer instead. I thought he deserved as much, after all of the grief he's caused…after everything he said about you. Fuck...fuck!" Dexter explains, slamming his hand against the wall mere inches away from where Deb's head rests.

She flinches, though she knows that he'd never dare hit her. "I'm so fucking sorry, I-"

"No, no, don't apologize, Deb. I'm sorry. None of this is your fault; you never would have even been in that position if not for me anyway, so what do you have to be sorry about?" Dexter asks, tucking a few stray strands of hair lovingly behind her ear.

"Besides the homicidal maniac that just rose from the dead? Oh, nothing, I guess." She answers. An inappropriate giggle falls from her mouth and no matter how hard she tries she can't contain the others that follow. "On the plus side, at least you won't have to worry about me breaking bad anymore. I can't even commit murder correctly."

"Stop it." He tries to fight the laughter but a few traitorous chuckles manage to escape his parted lips. He chokes them down and puts his serious face back on; quickly turning away to survey the dimly lit room and make sure that the coast is still clear.

"Christ, is this guy a fucking cat or something? I don't think I've ever heard of a man having nine lives." Deb says after her brother turns around to face her once more. "Well, one down, eight more to go I guess. Great."

"Let's hope he isn't that lucky. I think one more try should do it. I'll ensure that he's carved a little deeper this time."

"Oh yeah? With what knife? Look, Dex, we need to get out of here." Deb whispers, sliding her hands up his the length of his chest and to his shoulders. "I don't want to see you get hurt, or worse. You know I could never handle losing you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you either. But I'm also not going to let Saxon get away from me again. This ends now."

"A couple of days ago, that deranged fuck managed to get the upper hand and stab you, Dexter. Tell me again that nothing's going to happen to you, but I can guarantee you that it won't mean shit to me, because you're a fucking liar and you have no idea what Saxon is capable of. I love you, but you can't fool me."

"None of that matters right now, Debra. Vogel is still in here somewhere, and I can't handle knowing that I could've done something to save her, but instead I just...ran. Don't you think it's about time that I do something right for once?"

"I'm not suggesting that we just abandon her, you know I'm not that person, but how much use can we be to her right now?" Deb asks, desperately trying to bring Dexter around to her way of thinking. "Saxon's baiting us; no, baiting you. He's clearly trying to lure you to him, and he won't do anything to Dr. Vogel if you're not there to witness it. How about you don't give him what he wants? Call the police, bro. Let them do their job for once."

"You know I can't do that. It isn't just me that Saxon has information on. He can implicate you in all of this, and I'm not about to take that risk out of fear." Dexter says, wrapping his arms around Deb's waist so he can bring her body closer to his. "Saxon is the one who should be afraid, not me."

Deb opens her mouth to speak but Dexter shuts her up by pressing his lips hard against hers. The kiss is quick, too quick, but his passion helps to get his point across. He needs something from her. Something that she already knows she has no desire to do.

"Deb, I need you to do something for me..." He starts. "There's a vial of M99 in the glove compartment of my car, and there's a knife in there too. Bring them here, leave them on that desk by the staircase, and then wait for me in the car. I'll see you soon."

Dexter starts toward the stairs, putting a good amount of distance between the two of them. Even though Deb is a bit out of practice when it comes to running she still catches up with him before he can even make it to the first step, grabbing him by his forearm and forcing him to turn around and face her.

"No, I'm not leaving you."

"Debra..."

"How could you ever ask me to leave you? Do you even think about me at all when you spout that stupid macho bullshit? You know that I could never just stand back while you go and slay the beast. That isn't what I do. I stand and I fight, but I also trust my gut, and my gut always tells me when it's time to walk away. Forget your amygdala, or whatever the fuck you called it. I think you need to follow my gut on this one."

"I'm always thinking about you," He sighs. "Everything I do is for you, haven't you realized that after all this time? I'm thinking about you right now, which is why I need you to do what I asked. I'm not going to let that animal get anywhere near you ever again, do you hear me?"

Deb knows that she should stay and fight things out, or better yet leave and fight things out, but she also knows that Dexter is the only person on the planet that is capable of surpassing her level of stubbornness. There's no changing his mind, and if it came down to it, he'd probably throw her over his shoulder, get the shit he's asking for on his own, and lock her alone in the car to wait for him to finish doing what he has to do. So for once she decides to swallow her pride and leave.

She reaches into his pocket and retrieves the keys to the car, stealing another quick kiss from him before she turns to leave. Dexter mumbles something low in his chest just as she's about to open the front door and she immediately does an about face, turning towards him with one eyebrow raised.

"What did you just say?"

"I said...if I'm not back in ten minutes, you have to leave without me."

"Fuck that," Deb snorts, taking a few steps closer to where he stands with his arms crossed over his chest, unflinching. "I'm not letting you go on a suicide mission, Dexter."

"It isn't a suicide mission! Precautions have to be taken, that's all. This is only for just in case."

"Then why does it sound like you don't think you're going to survive this?"

Deb can feel the tears flooding to the surface, blurring her vision and distorting the image of the man before her. The tears build up and soon she can barely see Dexter at all. He fades away like a phantom, and it's as if he's leaving her even though that is the very thing he promised he would never do.

"Deb, please don't cry."

She wraps her arms around her middle, crumbling into herself and denying his request as the tears continue to fall. Dexter glides over to her, wrapping one arm around her waist to pull her in closer and pressing his forehead against hers.

"I am going to survive this. I'm going to come back to you like I always do."

His breaths come even and deep, and the feeling of his body so close to hers gives her something to hold on to, something to drag her back from the darkness. To lie to her and tell her that everything will be fine if she lets him walk away.

Deb tries to mimic the steadiness of his breathing, keeping time with each warm exhalation that passes from Dexter's mouth to her face.

He leans in closer to kiss her on the cheek, and his lips gradually travel higher to collect the last few tears that fall from her eyes. His soft lips find her forehead after that, with one hand cupping the back of her head and the other still holding tightly to her waist.

When he finally pulls away, he offers Deb what she thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but to her it doesn't seem that way at all. To her, Dexter looks more like a scared little boy than a hardened killer. He looks like the little boy that she'd first met decades ago; the little boy who was forced down a nightmare path before he was even given a proper chance in life.

"Okay," Deb sighs, holding both of his hands in hers. "Just...tell me again that you're sure about this, I mean really sure about this, and I'll do what you asked. I still won't like it, but I'll do it. For you."

"I'm sure about this." He replies, giving her hand a light squeeze. "Really sure. I'll be back before you even have a chance to miss me. But if I take any longer than ten minutes, you have permission to punch me in the shoulder or something. Deal?"

"You bet your perfectly round ass we've got a deal!" Deb teasingly declares. "Oh wait, did I just say that first bit out loud? My bad."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear a word of that sentence." Dexter says, dropping her hand as if suddenly repulsed.

He laughs, and his open-mouth smile accentuates the slight wrinkles beneath his eyes, which oddly serves to make his entire face light up. Deb bites down on her bottom lip, mulling over whether or not she should steal another kiss from the unsuspecting man before sulking back outside to the car, but a bloodcurdling scream makes the decision for her.

"Vogel." The Morgans state in unison.

"Go." Dexter whispers, his hand flying to the small of Deb's back so he can push her toward the front door. "And forget what I said about the tools. Don't come back inside, just stay safe for me."

She watches Dexter disappear into another room; the kitchen, if she remembers correctly from the few days she'd spent living in this very house under the doctor's care. Her brother returns seconds later with a knife in hand, his grip on the handle tight and assured.

He tilts his head to the side, gesturing over to the door with an added annoyance, and Deb finally does what he'd been asking her to do all this time. She leaves him.

She makes her way to the car on two unsteady feet, silently mumbling to herself that her brother is going to survive this, because of course he is.

Her mind starts to travel to dark places as she walks a few feet over to the car. She doesn't like to think about Dexter killing; but some days her mind does wander. When she does think of him in that way, she sees strong arms raised slightly over his head, two hands wrapped around his knife.

She sits down in the passenger's seat, locking the door behind her and the image of Dexter burying his knife into his victim's chest, all the way down to the hilt, becomes all that she can see. When her mind goes to this place the figure on the table is almost always Travis Marshall, the thought of his grizzly fate transporting her right back to the very moment where it all began for them. But truthfully, didn't it start before? Before, with Brian Moser?

Deb closes her eyes and sees Brian's staring back at her. They're hazel like Dexter's, something that she hadn't really paid much attention to all of those years ago. She thinks that's why he may have been able to force his way into her heart as effortlessly as he had. Even though she didn't know it back then, she'd spent her entire life holding Dexter up as the ideal; so when Rudy Cooper came along, so perfect and such a stark reminder of Dexter in so many ways, like an idiot, she jumped at the chance to love him and to be loved by him. It's like Brian knew just what to say to get her to bare it all. He knew just what to do to get her to trust him, to make her feel loved and secure. He molded himself into the ultimate object of so many women's affections, and he was damn good at it, too. Maybe if he wasn't such a sick fuck he could've put all that talent to good use on a fucking movie set or something. 'Oscar Award Winning Actor, Brian Moser' has a nice ring to it. Better than 'The Ice Truck Killer, Brian Moser' does, that's for sure.

Though Deb wasn't there when Dexter made his final choice, she finds herself trying to imagine how it all went down. She can almost swear that she sees the way the life drained from her brother's eyes just as the blood drained from his own brother's veins in a beautifully grotesque shade of red.

Dexter chose his needy foster sister over his own flesh and blood, over the only person in the world who would allow him to be the feral killer he'd long thought himself destined to become.

Dexter chose her because he loved her, but he also chose her because deep down, he always knew that she was his best chance at being something else. Something better. That's a hell of a lot of responsibility for one person, but she'll shoulder it gratefully.

Some part of her even thinks that Dexter always knew what the two of them were meant to become, even way back then, and that brings a smile to her face despite the worry still coagulating in her chest. His promise to her, his desire to be a better man, not only for her and Harrison but for himself this time, gives her hope. If he can make it through the scorching hell of these past few years, then he can make it through this, too. He can make it through anything. He's coming back to her, and things are going to be better this time. All there is left to do is wait.

But the problem is, Deb doesn't much like waiting.

Her nerves soon get the best of her after what can't possibly be more than a couple of short minutes lost in thought; and so she finds herself reaching into the glove compartment for Dexter's knife and the needle of M99. She shoves the M99 into the pocket of her jeans for just in case, though she prays she won't have to use it.

Deb holds the knife tight by its handle, pointing it downward in a closed fist. She opens the car door as quietly as possible so neither Dexter nor Saxon (though she hopes to fucking God that the bastard is in the process of drawing his final breath) can hear her coming, opting to shut the doors but leave them unlocked just in case they have to make a quick getaway.

The front door to Vogel's is unlocked just as she left it minutes before and she lightly pushes it open, letting herself inside of the house.

The first thing that she hears is actually what she doesn't. The house is filled with an eerie kind of quiet, and there is no sign of Dex, Vogel, or Saxon anywhere in sight. Deb takes a deep breath and starts up the steps, lifting the knife protectively in front of her. The blade gives off a sinister gleam as she climbs the stairs one at a time, keeping her ears peeled for even the slightest noise.

She can hear her heart pounding in her ears and almost immediately has second thoughts. Maybe she would've been better off keeping her ass planted in the car like Dexter instructed her to. But surely he didn't expect her to just sit back and behave? He should know better than that by now.

When she makes it to the top step her foot slides and she almost falls and impales herself on her own knife but reaches out for the railing at the last second and manages to keep her balance. She chokes back a laugh, thinking on how absolutely ridiculous it would have been for Dexter to discover that she'd accidentally killed herself because she decided to come after him like a moron. She takes a deep breath, regains her composure, and clears the final step.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a dark figure appears before her. Deb gasps and yields her knife, swinging it out in front of her and at the person. They lurch forward as if to challenge her and she jolts back, her foot slipping out from beneath her for the second time. She extends her left arm to grab onto the railing and lift herself up again, but this time, the person in front of her comes closer and lashes out, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing. Deb's slick hand slides along the wooden bannister and her attempt to steady herself is all in vain, the force of the push sending her flying down the winding staircase.

Debra tumbles down the stairs before she has the chance to keep her limbs at her sides like she was taught to do during her training, and her rogue left arm ends up twisted behind her back in an extremely unnatural position. She hears a sickening snap when she lands at the foot of the stairs, and once the pain actually sets in, it becomes all she knows. A familiar ache shoots up the length of her arm, that very same ache that she felt after she was sent careening off the road courtesy of Hannah McKay, miss poisoner extraordinaire. But she shouldn't be thinking of Hannah right now. No, she should probably be focusing on her broken fucking arm.

"Fucking cocksucker!" She says, screaming as loud as she can manage through gritted teeth. "Jesus fucking shit!"

The dark figure advances on her, running down the steps two at a time. Deb tries to back away but it must make for a pathetic sight as she slides her ass backwards across the carpet, feeling around with her good hand for the knife that she dropped on the way down. The knife is nowhere to be found so she has to make do with what she has; kicking out her leg at the unwelcome intruder as they continue their relentless approach of her.

When they make it to the final step and finally come into Deb's full view she lowers her leg, feeling like an absolute idiot as the woman's petrified face comes into view.

"Debra?" Dr. Vogel gasps, falling down to hers knees in front of her former ward. "Oh, Debra! Are you alright?"

"I'm just fucking fabulous." Deb replies, testing out her injured arm to see if it can bend.

It can, but just barely. She would never admit it out of fear of appearing weak, but she knows that the pain deep in her joints is too severe to do much of anything. She isn't even sure if she can manage to lift herself up off of the floor on her own. But if she knows one thing for sure it's that she won't be asking Vogel for any help. If she has to crawl out of here like a fucking spaz, then that's what the fuck she's going to do.

"Debra, you can't possibly be alright, look at your arm."

"Am I remembering things wrong? Were you not the one who pushed me down the fuckin' stairs?"

"Yes. I'm sorry about that, you startled me."

The woman's gaze is a caring one, but hidden beneath the surface is that icy coolness that Deb has come to expect from her. She always trusts her gut whenever she meets someone new, and rarely has she had a first impression turn out wrong (but when it does, it's almost always disastrously wrong). The problem with Evelyn Vogel is that Deb still doesn't know where she stands with her. She has never been able to get a good read on Dr. Vogel, what with her calm demeanor, her perverse sort of curiosity towards anything and everything Morgan, and that fucking accent, but she doesn't think she has any ill intent. After all, they came here to save her.

By the looks of her, though, she isn't in need of much saving. Her hand appears to be bleeding quite a bit but compared to Deb's arm, she's fucking golden. There's also a rather large wound at the side of her head, dripping blood so dark it almost looks black, and Deb assumes that it is responsible for the spatter that she and Dexter had noticed when they initially entered the home. It doesn't look too hot, but she'll pull through.

"I startled you? You startled me!" Deb insists, shifting her hips and forcing herself to sit up straight. She cradles her left arm in her lap, taking note of how a single bone protrudes to the side. It doesn't look too bad but she figures that she'll have to set it into place somehow before she has the chance to cause any further damage. Great, that should be fun. "I didn't realize it was you up there. I thought you were that fucking experiment gone wrong."

"Daniel." The doctor acknowledges with a nod, her face a little too content for someone whose son came back from the dead all so he can have his revenge. "I don't...I don't know where he's gone off to. He put me in the storage closet but I managed to escape. I didn't want to hurt him, but he was intent on hurting me, that I know for sure now. That look in his eyes...he isn't my son anymore. He's something monstrous. So when I finally managed to escape and I saw you coming, my first reaction was to strike. I thought that he had returned for me. I apologize, Debra."

"Yeah, don't mention it...I guess. It's just an arm."

"Here, let me have a look. We need to determine whether it's a sprain or a true break."

"It's definitely a break." Deb replies, flinching as she tries to flex the arm. "I've broken the same arm twice now, what fucking luck! Maybe that means it'll heal twice as fast or something."

"That's some fairly questionable logic." Evelyn replies, a sly smirk working at the corners of her mouth.

"You're a psychiatrist, you deal strictly in the mind, not the body. So I'd say we're about even in this case."

"I did have to attend medical school in order to get my license, you know."

"Touché." Deb smiles, extending her good hand so the woman can take hold of it. "Okay, first I'm going to need you to help me up. And then you're going to help me pop my arm back into place. Got it?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Debra. We need to get out of here before Daniel returns. Call 911, leave the medical work to the professionals."

"It isn't a good idea but it's the best one we've got, because I'm sure as fuck not going anywhere without my brother."

"Your brother?" Vogel asks, getting back on her feet and then helping Deb back onto hers. "He's here too? Of course he is. He wouldn't let you come here alone."

"Could you maybe try to not psychoanalyze me and Dexter right now? Yes, he's protective of me. And yes, we're fucking. Happy?" Deb snaps, flashing an irritable grin as she limps back over to the stairs to search for the knife she'd dropped. She finds it a few steps up and slides it into her pocket with the M99. "Alright, now that we've gotten that out of the way, come over here and make yourself useful."

Evelyn makes her way over to where Deb stands, thankfully no longer intent on being a complete inconvenience. Deb thrusts her arm out, screaming when the pain surges through her entire body.

"Hurry up." She grinds out, feeling a tear trickle down her cheek as Dr. Vogel grabs onto the arm and tugs.

"Hold still." The older woman shushes her, grabbing hold of Deb's shoulder with the hand that isn't resting on her forearm. "I don't want to do this but you insisted. Scream, if you must. But don't bite down, you could sever your tongue."

"Good to know. I - AH!" Deb shouts, caught off guard by Vogel's sudden movement. There's a ghastly sound as her arm pops back into its socket - well, she hopes that's what it did, anyway.

The pain is still there but it isn't as severe now and that's at least something she can work with. She yanks the knife out of her pocket and bolts up the stairs, refusing to waste any more time. She hasn't heard so much as a peep from Dexter or Saxon since she set foot in this hell hole, and in her mind, that is the very opposite of a good sign. She'd much rather hear silence than her brother crying out in pain, but at the very least there should be some sign of struggle, right? Unless, of course, Saxon is toying with them both. But Christ, hasn't this cat and mouse game gone on long enough?

"Debra," Evelyn whispers, so close that Deb can feel the woman's breath on the back of her neck. "Be careful."

"Fuck careful." Deb answers once she safely reaches the second floor. "Careful hasn't been working out for me as of late. We're going to try something else now."

Dr. Vogel comes to stand beside her and Deb immediately brings her fully functioning arm around the woman's chest, holding the knife just shy of her throat. She isn't going to hurt her, she never could, but in order to trap a cat, sometimes a lure is necessary.

Saxon clearly planned on killing his mother, but what he really wanted was an audience. Specifically he wanted Dexter, her new surrogate son. But would seeing the source of his madness in the arms of another formidable foe make him think otherwise? Will this successfully lure Saxon right where she wants him? Well, there's only one way to find out.

"Debra, please." Evelyn begs, her voice strained thanks to the way Debra's arm is resting on her windpipe. She sounds terrified and that's great. That's believable.

"Shut up." Deb states, her face hard and determined as she begins to walk the two of them down the long stretch of hallway.

"I don't understand..."

"Show yourself, Saxon!" Deb demands, her voice echoing through the corridor. "Show yourself, fucker! And I won't have to do anything crazy. Show yourself, and the bitch is all yours!"

Dr. Vogel whimpers in protest and it's almost enough to make Deb rethink this entire thing and let her go. Almost.

"What? You too chicken shit to face me again? I killed you once and I'll kill you again, you fucking -"

"Debra, behind you!"

Deb immediately does a complete 180, tightening her hold on Vogel's shaking form and pressing the knife closer to her neck when her eyes meet Oliver Saxon's for the first time in days.

His eyes sparkle with a twisted sort of joy, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grin that's almost as ugly as the crusted over wound on his neck, Debra's gift to him. By the looks of it the flesh has only just begun to heel, the makeshift stitches he'd probably done on himself in some seedy garage making him look more like a refurbished rag doll than a man.

Saxon pushes two fingers to his throat and licks his lips as he attempts to speak. It would be a pitiful sight if Deb could bring herself to feel anything but hate for the man.

"Debra..." He croaks, his voice pitchy and grating to her ears. "H-Hell...Hello." He struggles to get out even the simplest of words, his face reddening with the effort.

"Fuck you." Deb replies. "Now, I see that you're having a little trouble with your words so I'll make this nice and easy for you. Tell me what the fuck you've done with my brother, and the good doctor is all yours."

He doesn't say a word in response, only shakes his head.

"Oh, so you think I'm fucking bluffing? Then why don't you try me, asshole."

Deb shifts slightly so that the knife is pressed just above her hostage's throat. She grazes the blade against the bottom of Vogel's chin, prickling her flesh with the tip of it. The skin breaks there with the pressure she applies, and Deb watches with a tinge of guilt as the blood oozes from the elder woman's skin.

She expects Saxon to react somehow, but she can't say that the Grinch-like smile that owns half of his face is quite what she had in mind. He reaches one arm behind him and Deb immediately takes cover, lowering the knife to her side so she can safely release Dr. Vogel.

Saxon wields his weapon - a pretty standard looking handgun - and aims it at Debra. She throws herself to the ground, careful of her throbbing left arm, and seconds later she hears the bullet lodge itself into the wall mere inches above her head.

"Go, go!" Deb shouts, nudging Vogel further. "Go into another room and lock yourself inside, now!"

The woman remains frozen in shock, staring straight ahead at the man she once called son. She squints at something in the distance and then smiles, her hand coming to rest on top of Deb's. She's running low on stamina and even lower on patience and so she pushes Dr. Vogel again, harder, hoping that she'll finally stop actually like the town retard and finally move her fucking ass.

"Dexter." Vogel mumbles low under her breath, looking hopeful and more assured than Deb has ever seen her.

Deb turns to face the staircase and her brother comes into view. He looks a little scratched up but otherwise unharmed; and though she badly wants to go to him, she won't allow herself to react at all in fear of alerting that mute piece of shit to what's coming for him.

Saxon starts up the steps towards Deb and Dr. Vogel with his gun cocked. He just shot at her and there's the possibility that he'll do it again, but for some reason she doesn't think he will. Not yet. If it's a family reunion he wants, then it's a family reunion he'll get; but in his mind, there's one important thing that the party can't start without.

Dexter advances on the unsuspecting man as quiet as a mouse, raising one finger to his lips in hopes of keeping the two women quiet. He keeps a safe distance between himself and Oliver Saxon, so light on his feet that the man remains absolutely clueless as to what's about to happen. He thinks he's got them cornered. How cute.

With a jerk of his head Dexter silently communicates with Deb, telling her to get the fuck out of there. He looks a little annoyed to see that she came back for him but of course he isn't the least bit surprised. This is what she does, after all.

Deb forces herself to stand and brings Dr. Vogel with her, yanking her by one arm and forcing them to walk together. She doesn't want to turn her back on a man who's armed but she takes her chances, sprinting down the long hallway with a panting Vogel by her side.

The sound of heavy work boots pounding up the stairs gets louder by the second, and Deb knows that Saxon is close now, seriously close.

"To the left." Dr. Vogel says. "My study, we should be safe in there."

"I pray to fuck you're right." Deb answers, veering to the left when the woman at her side dictates.

Vogel turns the knob of the door to her study and lets herself inside as Deb lingers close behind. Before she can make it into the room she feels a hand tangle itself into her hair and the man takes hold, harshly yanking her head back and throwing her down to the floor. Saxon stands over her, smirking as he lifts his leg and brings his boot clad foot down hard on her injured arm. She yelps out in pain, automatically bringing her good arm across her chest to cradle the other. Saxon decides to take advantage of her vulnerability, stomping down viciously on her stomach. He does it a second time and then a third and she cries out, her entire body throbbing as if someone dropped a bag of bricks on her. The metallic taste of blood builds up in her throat but she chokes it down, not quite ready to let Saxon see her sweat.

"What, that all you got, Ollie?"

Before he has the chance to act again he's thrown fiercely against the wall by Dexter. Debra's first instinct is to yell at him for taking so long; but the terrible ache throughout her entire body coupled with the fact that all Dexter has to defend himself is a small knife that is clearly no match for a gun gives her pause.

"Don't you ever fucking touch her. Ever." Dexter growls, emphasizing his point by banging Saxon's head against the wall again.

She watches from the floor as the two men fight, searching for a possible point of entry where she can slip in and grab Saxon's gun before he has the chance to take her down. He's shoved it in his back pocket, out of anyone's reach, but she suddenly remembers the vial of M99 that she'd left in hers after she decided to go after her brother. She can't make out any uncovered skin anywhere on Saxon's body, so she'll have to try to stick it through his clothes instead. A more difficult task, but doable.

Deb reaches for the forgotten savior with her good hand and crawls over to where Saxon stands, shakily raising her arm so she can position herself and attack the man at his weakest point. She lifts herself up as much as possible, running solely on adrenaline as the pain threatens to take control of her.

She jabs the needle into the boniest part of his legs and pushes, but her effort isn't good enough and the needle slides right out. She tries to reach for him again Saxon immediately stumbles backward and out of her reach; an inhuman screech roaring from his mouth. He reflexively knees Deb on the forehead and she falls down, the back of her head knocking hard against the floor. He lifts his foot and for a second Deb thinks he's coming after her again, but instead he stomps down onto the vial of M99 and crushes it, sending the liquid seeping into the carpet.

Deb sees Dexter lunge at Saxon with murder in his eyes. He drives his knife deep into his side, in the very same place that he'd been stabbed by the man days earlier.

What happens next is all in a blur.

She feels herself growing dizzy but tries to stand anyway, falling flat on her butt. Vogel's hands grab onto her from behind, dragging her into her study. She lifts Deb up and sets her down on in a chair after a few tries, and then hurries to the door. She tries to close it but it's too late as Saxon forces himself inside, Dexter's knife still protruding from his side.

He slams the door shut and Deb immediately hears Dexter throwing himself up at it, the frame shaking as he puts all of his weight against the closed door.

Saxon quickly gives up on trying to keep Dexter out. He's worn down and decidedly no match for Dexter's superior strength. Her brother comes catapulting through the door, falling down to the floor in surprise. He recovers almost immediately, bolting at Saxon like a raging bull.

Never one to sit around and do nothing, Deb forces herself out of the chair. She brandishes her knife, baiting Saxon to leave Dexter alone and come after her instead, but he doesn't go for it. She was never the one he wanted.

He reaches for his own weapon, clicking the safety and pulling the trigger before Deb even has the chance to realize what's happened.

The sticky redness is glaring as it bleeds through the left side of Dexter's shirt. His eyes are focused on Deb, widened in shock, but he still somehow manages to smile for her. He places his hand over the gunshot wound but the blood is getting everywhere much too fast, seeping through his fingers in a steady stream.

Deb calls out for him, unable to even hear herself think over the sound of her own screams.

She has to go to him but pure hate motivates her to lunge for Saxon instead. She promised him that she'd kill him for real this time, and she isn't in the business of telling lies.

Deb viciously thrusts her knife into his chest, barely missing his heart, as if the fucker ever had one to begin with. He comes after her on wobbly legs with both her knife and Dexter's still implanted in his flesh, giving him the look of a human pin cushion. That demonic smile is a permanent fixture on his face and if she weren't so angry she thinks she might be afraid of the rabid dog that is intent on killing them all for reasons she still doesn't completely understand.

From the corner of her eye she notices Evelyn approaching. The doctor gives Debra a curt nod and she returns it, silently hoping to herself that they are on the same wavelength. This could be disastrous if Vogel doesn't pick up on the message Deb is trying to give off.

Deb backs up further and further until she reaches the open window and Saxon is right on her, his laughter insidious and his eyes glimmering with intent. When Deb sees Vogel closing in she quickly pivots to the side and both women take hold of each of the man's shoulders, pushing with all their might until they finally send him on his descent to hell. He hits the ground with a sickening splat, his arms and legs spread out to his sides in an abnormal position. Deb has the urge to go and check if he's actually dead this time, but the brain matter splayed around his fractured skull answers that question for her.

Deb's last thought before she loses it all is that he'll end up making a great chalk outline for the boys in blue.

Her eyes dart back to Dexter's and her world turns to ashes. The man she loves more than life itself is still conscious but barely so; blinking rapidly as he struggles to stay here with her.

She runs as fast as her feet will take her, throwing herself to the floor in front of her dying brother. Dying? Dexter? No, that's impossible. He isn't meant to die. He's meant to live and spend forever with her and Harrison.

"Evelyn, what the fuck are you doing!?" Deb shouts, desperately pressing her uninjured hand over top of Dexter's so she can help stem the bleeding. The doctor stands motionless by the open window with a vacant sort of look in her eyes, and it worries Deb that she still can't quite tell where the woman's loyalties lie. She helped push her own son out of a window and now she's upset that he's splattered across the concrete like an egg in a frying pan? What the fuck did she think was going to happen?

"He's actually gone." Dr. Vogel says, turning to face Deb.

Coming to terms with the fact that she aided in the murder of her own son can't be easy for the doctor; but the fact that that same son beat her ass not even twenty minutes ago surely has to ease the guilt somewhat. Still, Deb can hardly find the strength to care. Not when she's too busy trying to save Dexter's life.

"I can't believe that he's gone. Again." Dr. Vogel mutters to herself.

"Yeah, but my brother, he isn't. So stop standing around like a mental patient and fucking call 911!"

"No...No 911." Dexter protests, his eyes glossy with the threat of tears.

"Ignore him and move your fucking ass." Deb orders the woman through gritted teeth.

Vogel does as she's told; using the phone a few feet away to alert the authorities that there's been a shooting and that immediate attention is needed. She doesn't mention the dead body splattered out on the sidewalk, but Deb figures that they'll see that for themselves soon enough.

After giving a few more details to the person on the other line she mumbles the address and hangs up the phone, coming over to lean beside Deb and give Dexter the once over.

"He's looking very pale." She acknowledges, the worry she must feel for her surrogate son finally becoming apparent in her wide eyes.

But Deb can't bring herself to feel anything but malice for the woman kneeling beside her. If it weren't for her, Oliver Saxon would've never been in their lives in the first place. If it weren't for her, she wouldn't have to struggle to keep her brother's lifeblood in his chest where it belongs.

"Fuck you! You don't know what the hell you're talking about! – Dexter, no, please, keep your eyes open for me, okay?" She goes from shouting at Vogel to speaking softly to Dexter in record time, trying to choke down the tears that she feels bubbling up inside. She presses frantic kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, and finally, to his lips; as if she can somehow breathe life back into the lungs of a dying man. Deb has never been one for miracles, but she could sure use one right about now.

Vogel migrates over to the corner of the room and goes to sit in an empty chair there, cradling her head in her hands. She doesn't say another word. Good.

Debra's throat is sore and her body is sorer but she forces her wounded hand on top of the other one, pressing down hard on her brother's chest. She's hopeless to stop the bleeding but she's going to try anyway, because she can't think of a world without Dexter Morgan in it. The thought of all of the months she'd spent ignoring him after New Year's and even wishing that she'd dealt him this very fate leaves a poisonous taste in her mouth that she knows will never fade.

What is she supposed to do without him? He's all that she's ever known, the only one that she's ever been capable of loving this deeply. She hates to imagine what will possibly become of her once he's gone. She'd like to think that she could pull through for Harrison's sake, but as she lays in the void trying to keep her brother whole, she doesn't know that she's strong enough to go on without him.

They really are fucked.

"I-I'm…" Dexter mumbles, sliding one of his hands out from under hers and using it to weakly cup her cheek.

There's blood all over her now but she doesn't much care about that. His hand still feels warm against her skin, letting her know that he's still here. She tries to focus on that small shred of light in the dark instead.

"What was that, Dex? I didn't hear you." She asks, leaning in closer to him.

"I said…I said that I'm sorry. I couldn't let you become another one, another victim. I tried."

He sees her as one of his victims and though on some level that may be true, how many times has he saved her?

If she is a victim then he is one, too. Of circumstance or of fucking fate, Deb isn't sure which.

A fit of coughs overtakes Dexter and he soon goes limp in her hands. Deb's entire body feels numb as she places two fingers at the side of his neck in desperation; expecting the worst but still holding out for the best.

She feels a faint pulse throbbing at his jugular and can't help but smile. He hasn't left her. Not yet.

"You have to stay with me, Dexter." She sniffles, the tears finally starting to fall from her eyes. "I-If you leave me…then what the fuck was this all for? I've spent my entire life fighting for you. I have to know that it means something."

"Deb, listen to me…It…It meant everything."

"Means, brother; it means everything." She corrects him. "Present tense. Alright, Hercules?"

"Hercules?" He repeats, erupting into another coughing fit. "That's…that's funny. Hey, do you remember when we were kids and we went…we went to the uh…"

He abandons the sentence all together as his eyes flutter closed for the second or third time now, a peaceful smile washing over his face and softening his features. She has flashbacks of Lundy, remembers how he slipped through her fingers despite how much she pleaded for him to stay.

Vogel was right before. Dexter's skin is even paler now, dangerously pale. She reminds him of Rita on the night she died; sanguine splotches stained across smooth alabaster skin. It's a sight she never thought she'd see again.

"Dexter…? Dexter! Stay with me, okay? Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She cries. "Evelyn, go get some fucking rags or something, he's bleeding too much, and I don't think I can't stop it with just my hands. He's going to bleed out! Please!"

The woman looks frightened and she scurries out of the room like a dog with its tail between its legs, returning almost immediately with a few thick scraps of fabric. She thrusts them into Deb's expectant hand and Deb moves both her and Dexter's hands out of the way, bunching up the material and pressing it hard against the steadily leaking wound.

Dexter flinches as she places one of his hands back on top of the cloth and adds her good hand on top of that.

"Dexter, are you there? Dexter? Say something!"

"I'm here, Deb…and 'm not going anywhere." He answers, his smile falling as he stares at her tear stained face.

"That's right, Dex." She nods. "We're Morgans, and us Morgans, we fucking fight, alright?"

"R-right."

"Good. Now, just keep listening to the sound of my voice, okay?"

"Mmmhmm…"

The sound of an ambulance approaching somewhere not too far off in the distance makes Deb feel legitimately hopeful for the first time since she set foot in Vogel's place. On any other day she would plug her ears and wait for the obnoxious noise to pass; but now she thinks that she'd be perfectly content to hear that blaring signal for the rest of her life just as long as Dex was there to hear it with her.

"Deb…" Dexter says; his breath heavy on her face. He reaches his sticky hand out to feel her again, smoothing down a stray strand of hair and tucking it back behind her ear where it belongs. "I love you."

"I love you, too…more than you will ever know." She replies, leaning in closer to his touch. "And that is exactly why you can never fucking leave me, Dexter. You promised, remember?"

"I know." He adds. "I know. But I haven't been a good brother to you. And I've been an even worse…whatever I am now."

He winks at her – or at least she thinks that it was supposed to be a wink – and it makes her laugh. It's a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"You know…" He starts, clearing his throat before continuing. "I was never into religion, or God, or divine purpose, but it's like I was put on this earth for you. So please, don't be mad at me, Deb. I tried…I wanted to try, for you. It was always for you."

She's known her brother to wax poetic on some occasions, but this bit worries her. It is said that people tend to get sentimental when they die, but Deb won't allow herself to acknowledge that that is what this is.

Dexter closes his eyes and it seems as if he's slipped away from her again. She leans in closer and places a kiss on the tip of his nose, a single sob tearing through her when he doesn't do anything in response.

"Oh God, no. No."

"Ma'am? Ma'am, please, I'm going to need you to step away from the body."

Deb hadn't even heard anyone come in, too concerned with Dexter's waning condition to think of much of anything else.

"The body!? He's alive, you fucking dipshit!" She screams, wet hot tears streaming down her face with no sign of letting up. "No thanks to you!"

"I'm sorry, we got here as fast as we could. But please, I'm going to need you to step aside now. We're no help to him just standing around."

She reluctantly separates herself from her brother's lifeless form so the paramedic can do his job. She watches him with bloodshot eyes, hanging on to his every move.

Two other guys come in with a stretcher and they lift Dexter onto it as carefully as possible, strapping him on and placing an oxygen mask over his mouth. One of the men begins to roll him out of the room while the other steps over to Vogel to look her over.

The original man, the one who'd so considerately referred to Dexter as the body, sets his sights on Deb. He makes his way over to her, placing a hesitant hand on the arm that isn't all fucked up. She violently shoves him away, limping past the doorway so she can go figure out where they've taken her brother.

The paramedic catches up to her almost as soon as she makes it out into the hall, which is not that impressive of a feat considering the condition she's in. He looks her up and down, taking note of the bone that protrudes from her arm and the bruises that have started to form all across her skin.

"We have to get you to the hospital," he says. "The arm is definitely broken and judging by your limp, that may not even be the worst of it."

"Alright," Deb agrees, letting the man guide her carefully down the stairs. "But I want to ride with my brother. I have to know that he's okay."

"They've just pulled out now. The shot appeared to cut it very close to the heart, and he's losing blood fast. They had to rush him to the ER."

Everything sounds so calm coming from his mouth, so routine. He speaks as if he doesn't even know that he's just made her whole world come crashing down.

"I'm supposed to be there with him!" She exclaims. "I'm meant to fucking be there! What if something goes wrong, what if…what if he fucking dies and I'm not there to say goodbye?"

"Miss, please –"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Her cries ripple throughout her entire body and she collapses to the floor, cradling her broken arm close to her chest. The pain has started to border on unbearable now, but she can't go to the hospital and let them look at her. Every minute she spends being fitted for a cast is another minute away from him, another minute left dangling on the edge of life and death.

"I don't want to force you, but I'm going to need you to comply. Your judgment is impaired, you've clearly just been through a traumatic event, and I'm worried that you're mentally not at the place you need to be to consider what's best for you." The medic explains, trying a more caring approach. She likes it better than the robotic voice from before, but he isn't fooling her any. She's a grown woman, she has the right to refuse medical care if she so chooses. "We're going to do everything in our power to help…?"

"Dexter." She informs him. "His name is Dexter."

"Dexter, yes. We're going to do everything our power to help him pull through this. But this is not the way to handle things. I'm sure Dexter loves you very much, and he wouldn't want to see you hurting. Please ma'am, come with me."

Deb wants to protest but she simply can't do that anymore. The man is right, Dexter wouldn't want to see her hurting. So she decides to give up fighting and actually do what's best for herself once.

She uses all of her strength attempting to stand again but finds that she can't anymore, the adrenaline fading away and leaving nothing behind for her to feel but the pain. The truth is, she hadn't realized how beat up she truly is. If she had to guess, along with the broken arm, Saxon may have left her with a broken rib to match.

The paramedic ushers in another stretcher and gingerly lays her out on it. He wheels her out of the house and into the bright morning sun, trying to make general conversation with her as he loads her into the back of the ambulance. He asks her things like her name and her medical history but she ignores him. It's nothing but background noise to her.

She feels herself slipping because there is left to do but wait, and Deb doesn't much like waiting. It's the waiting that's the hardest part.

Her lids feel heavy and her heart feels heavier. With each minute that passes she feels another piece of her resolve slip away until there is nothing left but the darkness. She slips into it gladly.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: okay, so this took a little longer than planned...I'm so sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I've been in a pretty bad place lately and I won't bother you with all of the details but let's just say that I haven't gotten to write as much as I'd hoped this month. But I'm finally back and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Also, in news that is going to shock approximately no one, I overestimated my skills to wrap this thing up before, so this is actually not the last chapter. But 9 is, I promise lol. **

**Tom, I was so sorry to hear that you didn't really enjoy the last one, though I completely understand your complaints. But come on! I thought you knew me better than that! I am staunchly anti-Quibra, or whatever the hell they're called. One of the things I hated the most about the last few episodes of season 8 was how the writers so carelessly threw Deb and Quinn back together. I can promise you that isn't going to happen. In fact, this chapter is completely devoid of Quinn, just for you :P haha. ROSEY cheeks, I am thrilled that you were happy with my little reference to your review! My heart is soaring, I can't believe you think I'm an amazing author. That is very sweet of you :) Sorry about the constant cliffhangers, I hope I didn't scare you too bad. Lady D, so glad you're still enjoying this fic. Your comment made me laugh. Deb and Dex most definitely will not be fucking in front of Joey right now, but who knows what the future holds? hahaha Guest, I hope I didn't take too long to update for you! It hasn't quite been a month so luckily I slid in there right before the deadline :P badkidoh, Welcome! I'm glad you're liking it so far. And thank you a ton for your suggestions! DlovesDexter, I'm honored that you enjoyed my writing. Truthfully I didn't think many people would considering the other talented writers here. But yes, I agree with you. Deb and Dexter are really tragic figures but I really can't help but want some happiness for them too...not to say that that's what they're gonna get here, but a girl can hope, right? lol I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

**Hopefully I can get the final chapter up in a reasonable amount of time! But anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me, and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! xo**

* * *

Debra wakes with a start, confusion riddling through her brain. The medical smell of alcohol and disinfectant is a shock to her system as it runs deep in her nostrils; and if that doesn't serve as a big enough clue as to where she ended up after that disastrous face off with Saxon, the harsh fluorescent lighting stinging her eyes sure enough does.

Her words are a jumbled mess deep in her throat, but she finally manages to make her voice heard after a few croaking tries.

"_D-Dexter_?" She cries out, turning sharply to her left as if she expects to find her brother sitting there beside her. The thought takes her back to Lundy and Christine Hill, to the night where she damn near lost her life. Deb remembers waking to find Dexter waiting quietly at her bedside. He hadn't said much at first, but he was the first thing she saw after she thought she lost it all, and that meant more to her than he could ever know. Selfishly, she wishes she could've been greeted by that adoring face again. But this time, she isn't the one who was shot; Dexter was. Oliver Saxon tried to take her brother from her. If she hadn't already killed the bastard, she would do it again. "Dex!?"

Suddenly, a doctor comes into her view, stupid lab coat and all, with a sympathetic smile painted across her face. She sets her clipboard down onto the bedside table and inches closer to Deb, clearly unfamiliar with the concept of personal space and all that it entails.

"Ms. Morgan, you're awake."

"Yeah, no shit." Deb scoffs. She swings her legs out from under the covers and flinches at the sensation of her feet hitting the freezing floor, coupled with the pain that seems to shoot through her entire body. She may have underestimated the lasting effects of Saxon's blows.

"I'm going to need you to take it easy for now, Debra." The doctor instructs.

"And I'm going to need you to fuck off!" Deb shouts, regretting her rudeness almost immediately. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap on you just now. It's just…you don't understand. I have to go find my brother. I'll take things as easy as pie from here on out though, alright?"

The doctor sighs and reaches for her clipboard, reading over what Deb assumes to be her file before turning back to face the woman who is currently glaring at her so hard that she could probably burn a hole through her head.

"It's fine. I've heard worse from patients, to be honest. Pain tends to make people very volatile." She says. That unwelcome smile returns to her face. Deb wants to smack it off. "Believe it or not, you have only one fractured rib and one broken arm, which is an incredibly lucky feat after what you've experienced. Arriving here when you did actually managed to help you avoid a collapsed lung. I've prescribed you plenty of pain killers; you already were already given your first dose just before you passed out. Now, if you just drink plenty of fluids and avoid any activities that are particularly daunting, the rib should heal on its own in about six weeks or so. As for your arm, that's a bit worse off. Ulna fractures shouldn't take more than eight weeks to heal, though."

"Well, thanks, doc." Deb replies, forcing herself to stand up. The pain isn't much better than it was at Vogel's house but she tries to hide that fact from the doctor, not too big of a fan of the prospect of spending even another second in this room. "I guess that's everything, then."

"You can handle everything with your insurance at the front desk. Other than that, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I'm looking forward to our follow up." The woman says, though Deb doesn't believe a word of her kindly bullshit, because it most definitely was _not_ a pleasure meeting her.

Hospitals have always carried bad memories for Deb, and though she knows she shouldn't, she always finds herself lashing out at whatever poor unfortunate soul is within earshot. Whether it was spending months watching the cancer eat away at her mother until she completely wasted away into nothingness, or enduring the rollercoaster ride of her father's dwindling health, or even awaiting the news of her _own_ fate after multiple attempts on herlife; those bare white walls have always managed to stir up the same fear in her heart…but now, that fear has been amplified to catastrophic levels. This is _Dexter_, for fucks sake. Dexter isn't allowed to just up and die on her.

Deb reaches around her body to make sure that the hospital gown is completely covering her ass before taking off as fast as she can down the hall. She follows the arrows along the expansive stretch of wall so they can guide her to the ER, which is where she figures that Dexter is still being held. She won't entertain any other option.

Once she makes it to the emergency room she finds the front desk all but empty with the exception of one young woman.

"Hi, excuse me." Deb greets her, jiggling her leg in agitation when the woman continues to peruse a magazine without even bothering to acknowledge her presence. "I said _excuse me_. My name is Debra Morgan, and I'm a detective with Miami Metro Homicide. You think you could put down the fucking magazine for a second please? This is kind of fucking important."

"You're a detective?" The girl asks, finally turning her attention to Deb. "Aren't detectives supposed to have badges or something? You got some identification to show me?"

"Was. I…uh, _look_, can we not do this shit now? I'm just trying to find my brother. His name is Dexter Morgan, and he was brought here a couple of hours ago. Do you know where he's been taken?"

"Deb! There you are!" A familiar voice calls out. It's not exactly the familiar voice she had in mind, but she'll take it. She could use a friend right about now. "I came as soon as I got the call."

Angel rushes over to where she stands, and Dr. Vogel follows not too far behind. He wraps Deb up in one of his signature bear hugs, mumbling something in Spanish that she thinks is a prayer.

"Uh, no offense dude, but squeezing the last bit of air from my lungs won't do much to help heal this here fractured rib."

"_Ay dios mio_. I'm so sorry, Deb. It's just so great to see you again." He answers, stepping back to give her some breathing room. "When I heard about what happened, it had me really worried."

Vogel peers over his shoulder, her expression virtually unreadable, and Deb wonders what she has already told the man. She doesn't know exactly how long she'd been out while her wounds were being tended to, but it has to have been more than enough time for the woman to cozy up to Batista and share her version of events. As much as Deb wants to trust the psychiatrist, as much as she feels like she _should_ after everything that they've been through together as of late, trust just isn't a thing that comes easy to her these days. Dr. Vogel has collected enough information to sink both Morgans, and Deb can't let that happen. Not after everything she's fought so hard for.

"Oh no Angel, you don't ever have to worry about me. I'm tough. You know that."

"Damn right you are." He chuckles. He offers his fist to her and she bumps it happily. "Look, I know this isn't exactly the best time, but would you mind giving your statement now? There was a triple homicide out in the Keys that has top priority and I'm really meant to be there, but as soon as I heard what happened at Dr. Vogel's, I had to rush down here. The higher-ups wanted to send a couple of amateurs over here to question you. They even had the nerve to say that it was _police_ business. Can you believe that shit? Well, I made it _my_ business. After all, we're family, and what is this if not a family matter?"

That sickening tinge of guilt comes over her when Angel offers her a warm smile. She feels it each and every time she comes face to face with her former co-worker. What the fuck did she ever do to deserve his kindness and love? She wonders just how differently he would think of her if only he could see the blood on her hands. She must have done a better job at keeping it together for the outside world than she initially believed; but there are some stains that can never be wiped clean.

"I'm glad you're here, Angel." Deb says, taking his hand in hers and giving it a light squeeze. "But I have to go find Dex. I haven't heard from him since they put him in the back of that fucking ambulance, and I'm scared. Nobody's telling me jack shit around here."

She turns her head to glare at the woman at the front desk, who actually manages to make herself useful after a few seconds of hesitation. "Dexter Morton you said?"

"No, _Morgan_. Dexter _Morgan_. The last time I saw him he was bleeding half to death after he was shot right in the fucking _heart_, so I'm going to need you to at least get his fucking name right!" Deb shouts, wetness stinging in her eyes. "Can't you type any faster?"

Batista lays a hand on Debra's shoulder, but it does absolutely nothing to help quiet her nerves. In fact, the way his hand is shaking only serves to make things worse in her mind. Angel has always been the calm one. If even he fears the worst, then what is stopping Deb from doing the same? What's left to stop her from tearing this hospital apart brick by brick?

"He was moved twenty minutes ago." The woman finally reports. "It says here that he's been taken down to the lower level."

"Did you just say the lower level? Well, what the fuck is on the lower level?" Deb asks, her wildly shaking head moving back and forth in disbelief. "Do you mean…you don't mean _the basement_, do you? No, no, _no_."

She remembers the last time she was told this very same news. It may as well have been a lifetime ago, when Harry died. He was banished to the basement, filed away in the hospital morgue like some sort of worthless object. Nothing but a body left out to cool until someone was brave enough to sign for it.

The thought of Dexter sharing that same fate, his skin sheer like a ghost's as the last drop of blood trickles from his still heart, is what sends Deb over the edge.

She feels her knees starting to buckle and with her last bit of energy she forces herself to grip onto the nearest wall in a failed attempt at keeping her balance. But her body betrays her and she slides down to the floor as the sobs rack through her. The tears fall until she can taste the salt on her tongue; the bitter taste of torment.

She can see a commotion forming around her; can hear the concerned voices of Batista and Dr. Vogel, but it doesn't matter what they have to say anymore. It's nothing but background noise. Their words are just that – a few combined syllables with no actual meaning.

Angel offers Deb a hand but she ignores it. There is no fight left in her now.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do without him?" Deb wonders. She doesn't expect an answer because you can't expect something that isn't there.

Dexter…Dexter is…_gone_? How can anyone be expected to go on after losing the love of their life – the one thing that has been keeping them whole? She didn't even get to say goodbye.

"Debra, please –" Dr. Vogel pleads, crouching down so she can look into the shaking woman's bloodshot eyes.

"This is my fault. This is all my fucking fault!" Deb cries, slamming her hand so hard against the brick wall that it's almost guaranteed to bruise. She tries to blink away her tears but still they come like a waterfall, clouding her vision until she sees nothing but the cold hard truth. It's as if the entire world has begun to blur around her as life without Dexter continues to become her reality. She feels herself slipping. "How the fuck could I have left him? He never would've left me, no matter how much I begged him to. He's _dead_ because of me."

"Sssh, Debra, _please_ –"

"Fuck you!" Deb screams. Without thinking she lashes out at the unsuspecting psychiatrist, amassing the final bit of strength that she has left to lift both arms out and in front of her to push Dr. Vogel out of her face.

The woman falls flat on her ass but recovers quickly enough, settling down on the floor directly across from Deb.

"Debra, your brother is not dead." Evelyn insists, grabbing a hold of Deb's chin to force her to pay attention. She gestures to the woman at the front desk, beckoning her over to the corner where the two of them now sit. "Could you please tell her what you just told me?"

"I…I'm terribly sorry. There's a storm, and our servers have been acting up for the past few hours. Your brother was relocated, but not to the lower level. He got out of surgery almost a half an hour ago, and he's been moved over to intensive care." She explains with a massive amount of fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't mean to scare me. Well how goddamn fucking sweet of you." Deb replies, forcibly wiping away the false tears that she'd just shed.

She can't help but shriek with laughter at the accidental cruelty of it all, and she's sure that she makes quite the sight to see – all bloodshot eyes and bruised skin – looking half a corpse as she collapses into herself with misplaced grief.

The woman stands over her looking like a deer caught in headlights, and Deb wants to lunge at her. Truth be told, she probably would if she didn't have somewhere better to be.

"Are you going to just stand there like a fucking retarded clown or are you going to tell me where my brother is?" Deb asks. Her voice sounds oddly composed and that seems to frighten the woman even more than the yelling had.

Deb takes hold of one of Vogel's hands and one of Angel's so they can help her stand up, staring down at the incompetent secretary once she's completely back on her feet. She has a good few inches on her and uses that fact to her advantage. She's never been above intimidation.

The woman begins to fidget with the bottom of her shirt, her eyes falling down to her feet. "He's in room D100, but I'm not sure that they're allowing visitors at the moment."

"Oh, they're allowing visitors alright." Deb coolly replies, flashing the woman a final icy glare before starting off toward the elevator.

When she reaches the elevator, she pushes all of the buttons at once. The doors don't open fast enough for her liking and she goes for the stairs instead, taking them two at a time as Batista and Dr. Vogel trail slowly behind.

It most definitely is not an easy task, but the thought of seeing Dexter alive and breathing drives her to keep going, and so she climbs four entire staircases on that desire alone.

She makes her way down the impossibly long hallway and it likes a switch goes off in her brain. She can instantly feel Dexter's pull and she lets it guide her to him.

She spots room D100 and immediately forces her way inside, her hands flying over her mouth when she finally sees her brother doing something she'd almost managed to convince herself he'd never do again.

Debra inches closer to the bed, where she watches as Dexter lay still as a statue. She sees no sign of movement but the rising and falling of his wrapped chest.

Deb studies each of his inhalations, finding herself fascinated by the expansion of his lungs that she cannot see as he takes in untold amounts precious oxygen. She's never paid much attention to it before but she thinks she'll start now; _breathing_, the ultimate sign of life.

"He's breathing." Deb mumbles to herself, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He's fucking breathing."

She hears Angel and Vogel shuffle into the room to stand behind her, staring in silence as she walks to Dexter's bedside and takes one of his hands in hers. She crouches down beside him, rubbing his frighteningly cold hand against her cheek and hoping for some sort of reaction from him.

"Dex, can you hear me?"

When he doesn't reply she asks again, bringing his limp hand to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his palm.

There is no change. The only sound in the spacious room is the stable beat of the heart monitor positioned at her unconscious brother's right side, _beep beep beeping_ in a slow but steady rhythm.

"Look at his heart rate!" Deb gasps, reaching behind her for the nearest warm body. She latches onto Angel's forearm, pulling him closer to her. "It's really slow. Is that normal? He isn't…you don't think…He's not in a _coma_, is he?"

"Oh, I'm sure that's not the case. But maybe I should go find the doctor?" Vogel suggests. Though her tone is calm, Deb turns to face the woman and realizes that she has nothing but fear etched into every intricate line on her face.

Before Vogel even has a chance to take off in search of him, the doctor in charge of Dexter's care enters the room. He looks shocked to see the three of them, as if he expected Dexter to be some unfortunate John Doe; as if he had no idea just how much Dexter is loved.

"I'm sorry, are any of you authorized to be here?" He asks them.

"That's my brother hooked up to those fucking machines numb nuts, so consider this me authorizing myself. I have every right to be here. You got that?" Deb snaps.

Angel steps in front of her, quickly flashing his badge for the irritated physician. "Hello. I'm Lieutenant Angel Batista with Miami Metro Homicide. Your patient is an employee and a very close friend of mine, and I'm trying to work out the events that led him here. If it is at all possible, I would like to stay."

"Well, Lieutenant Batista, you can feel free to stay and visit, but I'm afraid that Mr. Morgan may not be coming to for quite a while. I don't know what position he'll be in to answer any of your questions."

"What happened with the surgery? Did he pull through okay? Was there any clotting? Were there any complications?" Deb asks, pushing past Angel and Dr. Vogel so she can come face to face with the man who holds her brother's fate in his hands.

"That really isn't for me to say right now, unless you're his next of kin…" He trails off, flipping through a few pages stacked atop of the clipboard he holds. Dexter's hospital records, if she were to guess.

"I'm his sister! Of course I'm his next of kin. I'm his _only_ fucking kin!" Deb shouts. "Now please stop jerking me around here, I just have to know that he's going to be alright."

"Are you fine with these two remaining in the room?" The doctor asks, gesturing considerately towards Batista and Dr. Vogel.

"Yeah, they're family." She answers, not really feeling the need to clarify that that descriptor applies more to Angel than Miami's very own Dr. Frankenstein. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say to them, too."

The two of them come to stand at either side of her. Angel reaches for one of her hands and gives it a light squeeze, making her feel the calmest she's felt since she got here. Vogel knows her place and thinks better than to copy the man's action, electing to keep her hands resting firmly at her sides.

"Well, the good news is that the surgery was a success." The doctor reports, betraying his stoic nature with an opened mouth smile after Deb shouts her thanks to the God that she doesn't even believe in for having the good sense to bring Dexter back to her.

"Okay…and what's the bad news?" She asks, knowing in her heart that there's no way that everything can be alright in the end. There has to be a catch. There's always a catch when it comes to them.

"I wouldn't call it _bad_ news, all things considered. You were the one to help put pressure on the wound after he was shot, I take it?" The doctor asks. Deb nods in response. "Well, it's good that you took action as quickly as you did. You probably saved his life. The bullet landed dangerously close to his septum, but you managed to stem the bleeding somewhat, and that made all the difference between your brother bleeding out and him living to see another day. You should be proud."

Angel pats her on the back but she shrugs him away. She's got nothing to be proud of, not really. Taking credit for anything good still feels wrong to her.

"The first round of surgery was a success, but we'll have to take him back for a follow up operation in a few hours. We space them out to minimize the potential blood loss. He'll probably be out for a while longer. The anesthesia has worn off but his body has been through a lot, so some exhaustion is understandable. You're more than welcome to stay, but I'm afraid we're only allowing this patient one visitor at the moment." The doctor explains.

His eyes dart from Batista to Dr. Vogel and then down to the floor; too afraid to even suggest that Deb should be the one to exit stage left.

"Why don't we give Deb a moment alone with her brother?" Angel suggests, gingerly placing a hand on the small of Vogel's back and guiding her to the door. "We'll be right outside if you need us, Deb."

"Of course," Vogel nods agreeably. "In fact, I think I'd like to give my statement now, Lieutenant Batista."

Deb's heart races in her chest because of the woman's words. She thought that she'd already given her statement already, but now it turns out that she hasn't. Now she actually has the chance to stop her from saying something that can ruin both her and Dexter's lives. But on her way out the door, Evelyn flashes Deb a small smile accompanied with a slight nod of her head; one that says 'I've got this'.

For all of her distrust of the woman, that somehow puts Deb at ease for the time being. Gradually, she starts to relax. Dr. Vogel isn't going to say anything stupid. She knows just as good as anyone what it means to face the Morgans' wrath. That's one game she definitely does _not_ want to play.

Deb waits until she and Dexter are finally alone together to release the breath she thinks she may have been holding in since she first woke up in the fucking hospital. She considers climbing into bed beside him but immediately thinks better of it, worried that she'll wind up accidentally unplugging a wire or finding some other way to fuck things up like she usually does. Instead she decides to drag the only chair in the room as close as possible to her brother's bedside.

Every inch of her body aches to feel every inch of his, to lie beside him and drown in his nearness…but that will have to wait. Just the fact that he's still breathing, just the fact that she knows he's still _here_, is enough for now.

Deb reaches for one of Dexter's hands and laces her fingers through the empty spaces where they fit perfectly. She can almost swear that she feels his fingers tighten around hers but she quickly dismisses the thought as a cruel trick of the mind. She's looking for things that aren't there. He'll wake up in due time, but right now, he needs to rest. The doctor said as much.

"You really fucking scared me, you know that, brother?" Deb asks; her voice shaky. Her words seem to be trapped in her throat and she struggles to find them, to force them up to the surface where he can hopefully hear. "I thought you were dead, Dexter. I actually thought I lost you, and I couldn't accept that. I know that we're constantly at each other's throats, and we say things that we could never mean, and we create five new problems for every one we fix, but it's all worth it if it means that we still have each other in all this, because that's all that has ever really mattered to me. You drive me fucking crazy, Dexter, and you're the only person I know who's an even bigger fuck up than I am; but somehow that shit just makes me love you more. Without you, I will never have another happy day in my life. So I'm going to keep fighting, I'm going to do whatever I have to do to make sure that we'll always be together. I mean, neither one of us has a choice in this, right? There is no me without you."

She hears a broken whimper and that's when she realizes that she's crying again. She wipes away the wetness collecting on her cheeks with the hand that is not currently occupied with gripping Dexter's like it's the only thing keeping her afloat. He feels warmer than he did before and the thought of him already on the mend after what he just experienced makes her smile through the tears as they continue their descent from her eyes down to her chin. He always finds his way back to her.

"You weren't kidding with the whole endurance thing, by the way. I mean, you were being a useless idiot when you said that shit to me, but now I'm thinking it might be true. It seems like we've been doing a hell of a lot of enduring these days." She sighs. "Dex, I know that I give you a lot of shit – and I'm not even going to lie to you and say that I'm ever going to stop, because we both know that is the opposite of the fucking truth – but I love you so much, okay? I love you with all of my fucking heart, and there is nothing you could ever do to change that. But I'm going to need you to level with me here. Stop giving me reasons to worry about you. I mean, I'm always going to worry about you, you know that…but I…I just don't know what I would do if you were gone. I only had to face that possibility for a couple of seconds just now before Angel and some poor secretary stepped in and told me that I was just jumping to awful conclusions, so how fucking torn up do you think I would be if that black hole suddenly became my life? Fuck…A life without you? What does that even mean, Dexter?"

Debra feels her cheeks growing hotter with the threat of fresh tears and turns away from her brother, looking down to her feet. She hadn't even realized that they had been bare all along until this very moment; too concerned with finding Dexter and making sure that he was okay to worry about finding her shoes to avoid looking like a total psych ward escapee.

She raises her other arm to shield her face despite the fact that Dexter is unconscious and probably not aware that she's even here with him. Her brother has seen her cry more often than she would've ever liked him to, and yet she doesn't feel entitled to give in to this particular moment of weakness. Compared to him, she got off easy. He's the one laid up in a hospital bed hooked up to a bunch of machines and hours away from facing his next surgery. She shouldn't be the one who can't even say two words without ushering in a new breakdown. But she is.

"I don't know, maybe that's fucking horrible of me to say…I mean, what right do I have to put all of this shit on you? But whenever you're in danger, or out somewhere risking your life, it's like I can't _breathe_. It's like we've been linked for our entire lives, like somebody cut the cord that physically bonded us together, but it didn't make the connection any weaker. If anything it's gotten stronger. I mean, when I said that I couldn't imagine my life without you in it, that wasn't an exaggeration, Dex. It was the whole pathetic fucking truth. Because my life is yours and your life is mine, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You are my everything. You are what has always kept me going."

"Deb, please don't cry. I'm still here. I'm always going to be here."

Dexter's voice is like a surge of electricity through her veins, reigniting the fire within her that had been so painfully dimmed by Saxon's bullet. She lifts her head to meet his heated stare, and he gives her hand a gentle squeeze. His grip is weak but most importantly it's _alive_, a miracle in a world where Deb once believed there were none.

"Fuck!" She exclaims, laughing through the tears that continue to trickle down her face. "Dexter!"

"Mmm, now there's a word I was worried I'd never hear again." Dexter says. He's in pain but he smiles anyway, rubbing his thumb in circles along the smooth skin of her palm. "Say it again."

"Fuck," Deb repeats. "_Fuck_. How long have you been awake? Were you planning on letting me talk to myself forever, jackass?"

She abruptly springs to her feet, wrapping her arms tightly around Dexter's neck before considering his current condition and pulling away before she has the chance to do any damage.

"Ow." Dexter laughs, though he looks offended once she starts to retreat back to her chair. "But no, I wasn't planning on letting you talk to yourself forever. I just wanted to hear your voice for a little while. Actually…come here."

He shifts as much as he possibly can and lightly pats the empty space next to him in the bed…her space.

"Dex, are you sure? I don't wanna crush you…"

"You aren't going to hurt me, Deb." He insists. "Right now, I just need to feel you."

She crawls into the bed beside him without muttering another word, doing her best to get as close as possible to him without making any contact with the left side of his chest. She curls into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. One of her arms is wrapped greedily around his waist, holding onto him as strongly as she can manage. It's a tight fit and it makes her midsection ache where Saxon so viciously tried to stomp her to death a few hours ago, but none of that matters when Dexter presses a sweet kiss to the top of her forehead. She never wants to let go.

"Deb…?"

"Yeah, Dex? What is it?"

"Nothing. It's just…you were wrong before."

"Oh? I didn't realize we were going to start a new argument so soon after the last one. At least let me get comfortable first."

Dexter lets out a small chuckle. "No, no one is arguing with anyone." His voice is wheezy and hoarse in her ear. He takes a few uneven breaths before continuing on. "You said that there is no you without me, but it's the other way around. It has _always_ been the other way around. There is no me without _you_. You're everything that's good about me, yeah, but you're also your own person, one whose identity isn't solely dependent on the serial killer she saved. I don't like to hear you talk about yourself like you don't matter. You're nothing short of amazing, Deb. You're…you're my salvation."

"Mmm, keep talking…" She smirks, craning her neck so her eyes can fully meet his. "You know, when I was talking to the doctor earlier, he basically told me that I single handedly saved your life. So just between you and me, I think it may be time for you to erect a shrine in my honor or something."

"A monument for Saint Debra? Well, I'm certainly not opposed to the idea." He answers, his smile practically beaming from ear to ear. "It's the least you deserve. You know my apartment isn't the biggest, but I can make room for it somewhere. I don't think Harrison would mind giving up a little closet space."

"Fuck off."

Dexter leans down to press another kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering on that spot for a few more peaceful seconds before they pull away. "How are you feeling?"

"Still sore as a motherfucker…" She admits. "But I'm fine, really. I'm not the one that had to get a bullet extracted from my fucking chest, so I'd say I got off pretty easy."

"Deb, I would gladly take twenty more bullets if it meant keeping you safe and here with me." Dexter admits.

Deb believes every word of it, and that worries her.

"Actually, I think I prefer you bullet free." She says, the corners of her mouth twitching up into small smile. "But I love you, so I'll let it slide just this once. Just don't go off and get shot on me again. I don't think I could take a repeat of this morning."

"Deal." He answers. "I love you too, Deb. So much."

Deb hears a hitch in his voice and he immediately goes quiet, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him inhaling her scent, basking in the aura of her, of _them_. They'd only been apart for hours but in reality it felt more like a lifetime.

Neither one of them has ever been equipped to deal with a life without the other. In a way, it's come to be their own particular brand of survival. To most it would seem like they were suffocating each other, and that may not be too far from the truth. But to the Morgans, there is simply no other way to be.

"I'm sorry." Deb blurts out, breaking the serene silence that is often such a rarity between the two of them.

Dexter moves his head from its resting place and turns to face her, their faces so close that they're practically pressed nose to nose. "What could you possibly have to be sorry for?"

"I left you." She replies. "You're not mad about that? Not even a little bit? Because if you were… I would understand. I left you when you needed me the most, Dexter. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. You never would've left me when I needed you. Hell, even if I _didn't _think I needed you, you would've still been there. It's what you do. I've learned that from experience. But leaving…leaving isn't what _I_ do."

"Deb, listen to me. I could never be mad at you." He whispers, trying his best to assure her of that. "Not even for a second. I asked you to leave, and I stand by that request even now. You know that I never want to see you hurt. I still wish you hadn't come after me at all. Then maybe you wouldn't be in the hospital, sore as a motherfucker."

Deb finds herself grinning at his reference to her earlier choice of words, but still unable to drop the issue. The guilt of walking out on her brother weighs on her chest like an anvil, and though he says that he isn't mad, she can't completely let herself off the hook for leaving him out like a lamb for the slaughter. Sure, she came back for him. But she was too late.

"I'm your sister…" She says. "I'm supposed to protect you. We're in this shit together, Dex."

"No, Deb. You've got it all wrong. I'm your big brother, and I'm meant to protect _you_. So stop blaming yourself for something that was out of your control. I let my guard down around Saxon, and I paid a heavy price for that. I'm just glad I didn't have to pay _the_ price. I couldn't go on knowing that something happened to you and I couldn't stop it. I damn near lost my mind when I saw that you came back into that house after I specifically told you to stay safe and wait for me in the car."

"But see, that's exactly where you went wrong, bro." Deb says, her lips melting into her trademark smirk. "You can't just tell me to do something and actually expect me to listen. It didn't work when we were kids and it definitely isn't about to start working now. I can make my own bad decisions, thank you very much."

"Mmm, well I suppose you wouldn't be mine if you were easy." Dexter replies. His voice is groggy and his head starts to droop to the side a little, eventually coming to rest on Deb's shoulder.

"You're damn right." She agrees, cuddling up against him as his breathing begins to even out.

She lets her eyes flutter closed just to listen to his short, even breaths as they come; the only other sound in the room that constant beeping of machines dedicated to keeping her brother alive. After a few short minutes she realizes that he's already drifted back off to sleep and she thinks that she'd like to do the same, unaware of just how tired she truly had been through all this.

Deb nuzzles her face into the warmth of Dexter's shoulder and soon her breathing starts to match his. But before she can fully drift off to sleep, she hears a slight creak at the door and is immediately hit with the feeling of being stared at.

With an annoyed sigh she carefully lifts her body off of Dexter's. She turns her head towards the door and sees Angel and Dr. Vogel staring back at her, their faces illuminated with a pair of matching smiles.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you." Batista says, his eyes moving from Debra to Dexter and then back to Debra again. "Uh, we can head back out if you'd like."

When Deb doesn't reply he taps Vogel on the shoulder and gestures towards the door, awkwardly backing up to meet it.

"No, you don't have to leave." Deb reluctantly replies, rubbing at her tired eyes before continuing. "Dex just fell asleep again. I think he's going to be out for a while. The poor guy is pretty out of it."

"That's understandable." Angel nods. "I'm just glad he's alright. I was worried for a while there. I don't know what any of us would do without your brother."

"Yeah…you and me both." Deb says.

She struggles to lift herself up and off the bed without disturbing Dexter, but Angel quickly comes to her aid, offering her a soft hand.

With both feet firmly planted on the floor she steals a final glance at her brother before preparing to face the round of questioning that she knows has to be waiting for her the minute she steps out of that door. She can't help but give in to the affectionate smile that plays at her lips as she studies Dexter's face. He looks so small in that bed, her big brother; the man who had always seemed so much larger than life in her unwitting eyes. There's a sort of peace to him that she hasn't recognized in what feels like forever, and she can't help but wonder if things might be different after this.

Right now, there is no Dark Passenger in sight. Just the man she loves.

"Do you want to stay with him, Evelyn?" Deb asks, though it hurts her to do so. She is loath to leave Dexter but she knows that she should've handled this whole interrogation thing before Dr. Vogel ever had the chance to accidentally (or intentionally) paint her into a corner with her official statement. "Just for a little while, anyway. You know…just until I get back."

"I would love to." The elder woman replies, settling down in the chair that Deb had placed at Dexter's bedside. "Lieutenant Batista, you aren't planning on questioning Debra right now, are you?"

"Well, I…now is as good a time as any, right?" He replies, a look of confusion rippling through his brow.

"As you very well know, Debra has just been through a very traumatic event. Not even an hour ago, she was under the impression that she'd lost the one person that she is the closest to in this entire world, someone that she has shared her life with. I don't think it would be wise to place her under any more unnecessary stress at the moment. It would be best to give her some time to collect her thoughts, at least. But of course, that is just one woman's opinion." Dr. Vogel explains. Her eyes meet Deb's for the briefest of moments, and she thinks she sees something cunning there, something mischievous. She thinks she likes where this is going. "If you cannot put off this questioning any longer, well, do what you must I suppose."

Angel awkwardly clears his throat and turns to face Deb, removing his hat and holding it flat against his chest as if preparing to deliver some particularly bad news. "Deb, you know that I'll always trust your word, but you also know the law, and you know protocol. I would be going against protocol by leaving now and allowing you to make your statement at a later date…unless you decide to hire an attorney, but we both know that there is no need for that here. I know you. You're an honest woman, and one of the best goddamn cops I've ever had the pleasure of working with; but you're also an eyewitness to an incident that resulted in a man winding up dead on your psychiatrist's front lawn. All I need is your recollection of events so I can close this thing. Open and shut."

"Lieutenant Batista, with all due respect, Debra is going to tell you the same story that I did." Dr. Vogel says. "The truth."

"And I don't doubt that, doctor. But –"

"…And that truth is that after Dexter was shot, Debra ran to him to apply pressure to his wound while I pushed my disturbed son from the window in an act of pure self-defense." Vogel cuts him off before he has the chance to even finish his thought, speaking so fast that he cannot get a word in edgewise. Not like he would have dared to interrupt the woman anyway. Angel has always been too respectful for his own good.

"Yeah, that about covers it." Deb chimes in, flashing Evelyn a look of pure gratitude for potentially saving her ass.

She can hardly believe that the doctor would go so far as to take the fall for something that they both had a hand in. Something that could very well have the authorities looking into her own history.

Debra almost feels bad for passing judgment on the woman before, though the sympathy stops there. She doesn't think anyone would blame her for still being just a tad bit upset over the whole molding her adopted brother into a serial killer thing.

Angel skeptically eyes both women. His jaw tightens in frustration, but Deb knows that his loyalty to her could never allow him to take action against this clear bastardization of the law. He's known Debra since she was a rookie cop who wanted nothing more than to crawl her way out of vice, and he has no reason to be distrustful of her.

She has played one of her closest friends for a fool yet again. She tries to justify it by reminding herself that Batista could use a good solve. He hasn't closed any notable cases since accepting the mantle as Lieutenant, so this could be a very good look for him. Deb assumes that Vogel has already disclosed the fact that her supposedly dead son was actually none other than the notorious Brain Surgeon, and after tying up a few loose ends and testing Saxon's DNA against samples of partial DNA that may have been found at his various crime scenes, the police will have no reason to doubt that their friendly neighborhood psychiatrist did the city of Miami a great service in killing him. She'll be celebrated. Angel probably will be too. Still, that doesn't make the lies weigh on Deb's heart any less.

Batista's cell phone hums in his pocket and he pulls it out to check the message that flashes across the screen. He puts the phone back in its place with a sigh and meets Deb's stare. "Well then, I guess we're done for now. I really should head down to that crime scene in the Keys. Everything checks out to me here, but, Deb, just…come down to the station whenever you're ready so I can get your official statement in writing. And please give Dexter my best the minute he wakes up."

"Will do, Angel." Deb replies, closing the distance between the two of them and awkwardly wrapping both of her arms around his middle. It's a normal task made abnormally difficult by the splint that restricts movement in her left arm. The hulking teddy bear of a man immediately leans into her embrace, hugging her with the warmth and love of every other hug they've shared in the past.

"I'll be back to check on you and Dex later, Deb." Batista declares, stepping out of their embrace and starting towards the door. "Oh, and it was nice seeing you again, Dr. Vogel."

Deb waits until Angel is completely out of sight before addressing the psychiatrist. She double checks that her friend isn't still lurking around somewhere in the hall, peering out of the window for almost a minute until she's absolutely sure that she sees nothing and turns back to Dr. Vogel.

"What the hell, Evelyn? Why did you take the fall for me?" She asks the woman. "Up until now, I didn't think you even _liked_ me."

"I don't know what on earth would give you that impression, Debra. For the short time we have known each other, I have done nothing but try to help you and your brother." Vogel answers. "And why did I confess to the murder of my son? Well, the answer to that is quite simple. My hand may not have been alone in delivering him to his end…but I suppose I already set these events into motion many years ago, did I not? I failed my son. His life and his subsequent death are my responsibility. And now, I am finally prepared to accept that responsibility."

There's an uncomfortable pause between the two women before Vogel takes a deep breath and continues on. "It wasn't just that, however. When I was speaking to Lieutenant Batista I thought of you and your brother, and how much the two of you have to lose. Daniel's death was a clear case of self-defense, every detective in the city would come to that conclusion, but the last thing you need is a police investigation."

"That's sweet and all, but you'll have to forgive me for being just a tad bit uncomfortable with the fact that your house is now an _active fucking crime scene_!" Deb says through gritted teeth. "You've got heaps of files on me and Dex there. Not to mention all of those fucking sessions you recorded with my dad. Mother shit fuck! I changed my mind. This is the opposite of okay!"

Dr. Vogel raises from her seat, walking across the room until she stands directly across from Deb.

"Debra," She starts, reaching her hand out as if she's about to tuck away a few unruly strands of hair behind the younger woman's ear. Deb takes a step back, put off by this sudden push for contact. She's never known the doctor to be particularly maternal. "Lieutenant Batista has already assured me that I can return home whenever I so choose. They've blocked off sections of my front yard where Daniel fell, but as of right now, they have no cause to search through any of my personal files or any other belongings. I am complying with the police and I've agreed to turn over any and all information I have on my son, though clearly it isn't much. According to the police, we are innocent bystanders in all of this, Debra. And no one has to know any different unless you let them."

Deb considers the woman's words. It's almost too good to be true. "I…I don't know what to say. Nothing other than thank you, I guess." She says. "But don't you even start thinking that this is going to become a regular thing."

"Oh, I could never." Dr. Vogel says, a sly smile written across her face. "But there is no need for you to thank me. I just did what I had to do. Regardless, this will all be over soon. Daniel tried to murder your brother; that much is true. The other dirty details don't matter much now, do they? I don't think Dexter's peers will be eager to seek justice for the would-be assassin of one of their closest friends. It's handled. Everything is going to be fine."

"Yeah, I hope so." Deb replies. "It would be nice to just stand still for a moment, you know? I don't think I can remember the last time I actually caught a real break."

"You can always come to me whenever time seems to be moving too fast for your liking. After all, that's what I'm here for, isn't it?" She asks. "Well, I think that I better be going, before that doctor comes back to rip us a new one about Dexter's room being at full capacity yet again."

"Fuck that guy. You can stay if you want, Evelyn."

"No, no, that's quite alright. I suspect that we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks anyway. We still have a couple of new exciting developments to discuss, lest you've forgotten."

"Did you just fucking wink at me?" Deb asks, a laugh made of nothing but pure shock erupting from the base of her throat.

Vogel slides over to the door and lets herself out without another word, and Deb actually finds herself blushing, much to her dismay. This morning, she'd told the psychiatrist that she and Dexter were fucking more out of annoyance than anything else. That definitely didn't mean that she was signing up to have _this_ conversation.

A shiver runs up Deb's spine at the thought of her and Dexter back in therapy, seated across from Dr. Evelyn Vogel so they can spill all the intimate details of their relationship while the woman furiously scribbles notes onto her pad. It isn't exactly most opportune way to kick off her relationship with Dexter. Whatever that relationship even is now, she doesn't have the slightest clue.

Still, she'd gladly fuck Dexter on Vogel's dinner table while she watched eagerly with a snack in one hand and a video camera in the other if that meant keeping him alive and here with her.

She turns back around to face him, still somewhat surprised by the fact that Dexter managed to survive this. She can't believe that she almost lost him; _for real_, this time. She will never let that happen again.

Her feet move of their own accord and she finds herself back in the chair at Dexter's bedside. She drifts into a peaceful sleep for about an hour or so until she wakes to the sound of the door opening. She expects to see the doctor, to be told that they have to take Dexter away from her again, so when the only face she sees is her nephew's, she opens her arms expectantly for the boy.

The toddler jumps into her lap and throws his arms around her neck, peppering sticky little kisses across her face. The pressure of his body against hers revives the troublesome ache in her ribs but she ignores it, too happy to see Harrison to waste time worrying about her injuries.

Jamie peeks her head into the room. "Hey, Deb. I'm glad to see that you're doing alright. I brought Harrison here as soon as Angel told me what happened. I hope you don't mind me pulling him out of school…"

"No, Jamie, you're fine." Deb replies, offering the woman a warm smile of gratitude. "You don't know how happy I am to see the little guy."

"Anything I can do to help." The nanny replies. "The lady at the front desk told me that you were already in here, and that they were only allowing Dex one visitor at a time. They made an exception for Harrison, though – my guess is that they couldn't resist that cute little face – but I guess that means I should get going, then. Let Dexter know that I'm praying for him."

"Of course." Deb agrees. "Thanks Jamie, it really does mean a lot."

"Yeah, well, Dexter means a lot." Jamie says. "He's one of the sweetest guys I've ever met. I mean, he couldn't even hurt a fly. Thank God the bastard that did this got what was coming to him."

Deb bites her tongue, replying to what Jamie said with a single nod. The irony of the younger woman's kind words most definitely isn't lost on her.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow." Jamie says, showing herself out of the room with a wave.

"Is daddy gonna be okay?" Harrison whimpers. A single tear trickles down his cheek as he turns to stare at his father's still form. "_Daddy_?"

"Daddy is going to be fine, Harrison." Deb answers, running her fingers through the toddler's hair as an attempt to calm him down. She remembers Dexter loving that as a kid. Usually she was the one who needed to be comforted in those days; but on the rare occasion that her big brother actually allowed her to be there for _him_ for once, she would give him the same treatment and he would be like putty in her hands as she massaged at his scalp.

It turns out that there's some truth in the phrase 'like father, like son', as Harrison gradually begins to wind down. His tears slow as she keeps with the steady rhythm of her hands, lulling the boy into some sort of peace.

"Are they gonna cut him open?" He wonders, climbing further into Deb's lap.

"Well, buddy, they've already done that, and he's okay now. Almost good as new! You see, a bad man did a really bad thing; and after he did that bad thing, your daddy was hurt really bad. But the good doctors patched him right up, and now he has to rest. He's really tired, like how you get after you spend a really long day making sandcastles on the beach. I know you're scared, baby. I was, too. But you don't have to be afraid any more. Your daddy isn't going anywhere."

"Aunt Deb is right. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here with you."

"Jesus, Dex, you've gotta stop doing that!" Deb laughs, delighted that Dexter has finally woken back up.

"Daddy!" Harrison exclaims, abandoning Debra's lap in favor of launching himself onto the empty space in bed next to his dad.

"Careful, Harrison, _careful_!" Deb scolds the boy. "I don't want you to hurt him."

"I'm sorry." He replies, curling up into a more favorable position beside his father. "I love you, daddy. I love you, Aunt Deb. Please don't leave me."

"Never." Deb and Dex reply in unison, their eyes finding each other across the short distance.

The three of them fall into a companionable silence that she welcomes gladly. Soon enough, she notices Harrison drift off to sleep. The poor kid must be exhausted.

Deb watches as Dexter's eyes flutter closed as well, studying the identical innocence painted on the faces of both of her boys.

"Hey, Deb?" Dexter asks.

"Brother, you have _got_ to stop doing that." She chuckles. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just…I love you."

She smiles at him, her heart throbbing in her chest. "I love you, too. Always."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Okay, so let's just get this out the way now... I am sosososososo sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I'm sure I mentioned this before, but this story was originally meant to be a oneshot and I ended up getting carried away, which of course, means that I didn't really plan the ending ahead of time. I had a general idea of where I ultimately wanted to take this but when it came to putting my fingers to the keyboard, for some reason I kept drawing a blank. But we've finally reached the end point and overall I'm pretty happy with where we've ended up. **

**Tom, It's great to know that you were pleased by the last chapter. After all, that's the goal :) As for your suggestions for my next story, thank you so much! I don't want to spoil how that one is going to end up, but just know that I love your idea and I may or may not be going in that direction... (okay, I totally am) badkidoh, thank you so much, I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! ROSEY cheeks, I always appreciate your kind words, so thank you for always sharing them with me! I love to hear what specific parts people enjoyed, it's nice to interact in that way. I hope you love the final chapter! **

**One last thing before I go; I've been working on my next fic, and of course, what was initially supposed to be a re-write of Argentina has gotten a little out of control. It's probably going to be pretty long and I'm hoping to have it up as soon as possible, but I think I want to get the whole thing written before I start to post it here, just to avoid the long waits between chapters that I've unfortunately been leaving you guys with with this story. **

**Reviews are love! Oh, and there will be a few more notes at the end ;)**

* * *

"Do you think daddy will let me see his scar soon?" Harrison asks, his eyes beaming with a look of childish glee. "Maybe even let me touch it?"

"Well, buddy, he actually doesn't have one yet. Scars take a little while to form, and he only just got out of surgery yesterday." Deb answers. "But he'll have one eventually, and I'm sure he'd be happy to show it to you."

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

"Here, how about you eat your banana now?" She instructs him, attempting to place the troublesome fruit in the toddler's hands. He'd been evading it for almost twenty minutes now; extending what was supposed to be a brief pit stop to the hospital's cafeteria into a bit of an ordeal.

"No, I told you I don't want it." Harrison replies. He takes the banana from his aunt's hand and places it down triumphantly on the table, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest.

Deb feels a tantrum brewing. At the end of her rope, she decides to try out a good old fashioned guilt trip. She was a rebellious child herself, but there were days where Harry managed to keep her in check with the same tactic. "If you don't eat it, your dad will yell at me, and you wouldn't like that. Would you, Harrison?"

"No. But it can be a secret, Aunt Deb." He suggests. "Just for us."

Are little kids even supposed to understand the concept of secrets? The thought of Harrison already growing accustomed to lying, to hiding things from those closest to him, is a weight that Deb doesn't wish to carry. She tries to tell herself that it's stupid, that she's overreacting – it's just a fucking _banana_, for Christ's sake – but she can't help but wonder if this is where it all starts.

Sure, just a few little white lies, a couple of hidden truths here and there. But how many times had Dexter lied to her when they were kids? It started out with irrelevant shit like this, but somewhere along the way, childish lies became secret serial murder. Harrison isn't her son, but he might as well be. She'd have no one to blame but herself if he ended up going down the wrong path later in life and she'd done nothing to try to stop it.

"No, we don't keep secrets from each other, Harrison. So either eat it, or explain to your dad why you refused." Deb orders him, pressing her lips together in an authoritative scowl. "I'm not fucking kidding."

A frown forms on Harrison's face but he nods at her, reaching out for the banana and holding it in a closed fist. He looks terribly upset and Deb can't believe that she actually cursed at her nephew over a slimy piece of fruit. Of course the boy wouldn't understand what has her so upset.

Just as she's about to apologize to him, Harrison's frown melts away and a small smile takes its place. "Okay, so daddy doesn't have a scar…then how about a hole?"

The relief washes over her like a tidal wave. It's easy to forget how quickly kids tend to get over things sometimes.

"Nope, no hole. The doctors sewed him up good as new. But I'm sure he'll show you his stitches once he's all healed up. Those are pretty cool." Deb answers, returning her nephew's smile. "Come on, he's probably already awake and waiting for us."

She takes Harrison's hand and they make their way to Dexter's new room. After yesterday's successful follow up surgery, he was moved to another room and officially declared to be in stable condition. He'd spent most of the day sleeping, and truth be told, she was already starting to miss him.

Harrison takes off running just ahead of her, placing the unwanted fruit in her hand so he can turn the knob and let himself into the room. He immediately runs to his father, climbing into the bed next to him.

"I was beginning to think that you two got lost on your way back here." Dexter says, pulling the child closer to him. "It's been a while since you left."

"Yeah, I hope you didn't miss us too much." Deb replies. "Your son was being kinda difficult. But on the plus side, I brought you a present."

She settles down in the empty chair beside him, dramatically placing the banana in his hand, expectantly outstretched towards her.

"Seriously? It's a banana." He acknowledges as he starts to peel it, his lips twisting into a playful half smile. "It's nice to know that you were thinking of me, though. How unusually sweet of you."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't get too excited if I were you, brother." Deb smirks at him. "I tried to force Harrison to eat it…you know, for the vitamins and shit, but no dice. He even suggested that we keep it a secret. It was very 'you' of him."

Dexter turns to his son, inquisitively raising his brow at the uncharacteristically shy boy. "Harrison, is that true?" He asks between bites. "Did you really try to get your Aunt Deb to lie to me?"

"Yeah…" He admits. "Please don't be mad at me, daddy."

"I'm not mad at you. We all make mistakes. What really matters is that we learn from them." Dexter replies, flicking the banana peel into a nearby trash can once he's finished with it. "So I want you to promise me that you won't lie again. Lying isn't a good thing to do. I know it might not seem like a big deal to you now, but secrets can hurt, Harrison. Take it from me."

"I promise I won't lie again." Harrison says. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I know you are. I love you, Harrison. So much." Dexter adds, gingerly running his fingers through the boy's hair.

Suddenly, Deb's phone buzzes to life in her left pocket. She reaches for it with the corresponding hand, cursing to herself when her cast restricts her movement. She brings her other arm across her body to grab the phone, half expecting Dr. Vogel's name to flash onto the screen. She hasn't been back to visit yet today, but she made it abundantly clear that she wants to have a talk with the Morgan siblings sooner rather than later.

"Who's that?" Dexter asks, his face dropping. "You only just got here."

"Now you know how I've felt all these years, with you always running off." Deb mumbles.

Dexter looks hurt by her rebuttal, knowing damn well that he has no right to be. But like always, Deb feels bad about it anyway. She cringes, muttering a quick apology before turning her attention back to the vibrating phone.

"Ah crap, it's Elway. The fuck does he want?"

Her eyes dart to Dexter, then the screen, and then back to Dexter again as she wages an internal war with herself. She and Dex have only just now found their way back to each other. Leave it to Elway to find a way to ruin everything without even knowing it.

"Whatever, I'm sure he doesn't have anything important to say. I can just send him straight to voicemail." She decides.

"No, take it. You've been dodging the man long enough, Debra. I mean, he _is_ your boss."

"Yeah, so? He's not going anywhere."

"And neither am I." He replies, lifting both of his arms to gesture towards all of the shit he's currently hooked to.

"Well, when you put it that way…" Deb sighs. "Ugh, fine. I'll be right back."

She ducks out of the room to accept the call, watching through the window as her brother and nephew erupt into a fit of giggles. She wishes that she could be a part of it.

"Hey, Jake. Listen, I'm really fucking sorry for randomly going M.I.A. on you these past few days. I wasn't trying to avoid you on purpose or anything, I swear. It's just…"

"I don't want to hear any of your excuses, Morgan. Just get your ass down here, _now_. It's important. It's about McKay. I think I've finally got something."

"W-what? You're saying that you've got news on Hannah McKay?" Deb asks, disappearing further down the hall just in case Dexter is still within earshot and can figure out that something's wrong thanks to the rapidly increasing pitch in her voice.

Great, just what she needed, another problem. And so soon after the last one? This must be some sort of record. If Deb ever had any doubt that the universe hated her, it was definitely short lived.

Elway sounds discernibly disappointed by her response. He sighs. She pictures him running his fingers through his overly gelled hair, angrily pacing back and forth around his office with one of his shit shakes in his free hand. "Why aren't you jumping for fucking joy right now? Aren't you the one with the vendetta against her? Because of your dumbass brother?"

"Hey, don't talk about my –"

"I mean, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure you were the one pushing me to look into Hannah McKay in the first place. Give me _something_ here, Deb." The man interrupts. "A thank you would be nice, for starters."

"Uh, yeah I guess I thought I was on to something before. But I'm over it now. I was…misguided. That sighting before…it probably wasn't her. And even if it was, I'm sure that she's gone by now." Deb explains. It's one of the most truthful things she's said in a while. "You know I can't stand her, but I have to give credit where it's due. Hannah is a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them. Why would she bother staying in Miami where she knows that someone is bound to recognize her?"

"I think you're giving her too much credit here, Deb" He chuckles. "Not all criminals are as cunning as the Zodiac. And thank God for that, because if they were, I wouldn't be in business. Sometimes, a blonde is just a blonde."

"Yeah, whatever, I guess." Deb says, rolling her eyes in agitation. "Look, I'm gonna need you to stop jerking me around here. What exactly is your lead? I'm smack dab in the middle of some heavy family shit right now, and I have more important things to do than stand around gossiping about some bitch that's ancient history. So if this turns out to be nothing, I swear I will tear off your balls with my bare fucking hands and deliver them to your mother through priority mail."

"Alright, Debra, _Jesus_." The man acquiesces. "But just a little word of advice, you might want to ease up on the violent threats. I _am_ still your boss."

"Fair enough. So, come on…what have you got?"

"The bitch was fucking spotted!" He declares. Deb can practically hear his Cheshire smile through the phone. "The photos aren't on my desk yet, I'm waiting for my guy as we speak, but I have it on very good authority that it was her. Hannah fucking McKay, can you believe it? How much do you think we can make off of this one? She's still on the FBI's most wanted list, isn't she?"

"Don't cream your pants just yet, Jacob." Deb says. She hopes that she doesn't sound half as anxious as she actually is. If someone managed to snap a picture of Hannah lurking around the Keys – or even worse, a picture of Hannah _and Dexter_ lurking around the Keys – it might be time to start digging both of their graves. "When were these pictures taken?"

"One of my guys caught up to her last night, somewhere around Coconut Grove. He didn't approach her, thought it was best to keep his distance. He followed her back to her hotel, though. Got the room number and everything. He's a fucking genius, to be honest. But I've been waiting for you, thought you might want to be the one to take her in, seeing how personal this thing was for you."

Deb exhales the breath she'd been holding in in a whoosh. She stopped listening after 'last night'. Nothing past that even matters. "That's impossible."

"You know something I don't, Morgan? Why would that be impossible?"

_Because I killed her_.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. I guess it isn't _impossible_, but Coconut Grove? That's a hotbed for tourists. Do you really think she'd be dumb enough to try and hide out there?"

"What better place for a criminal to hide than in plain sight?" He asks.

It's a reasonable enough question. One that Deb can't really offer a response for. After all, he isn't wrong. She knows a guy who's been successfully hiding in plain sight for about twenty years now.

"I guess you've got a point." She replies after a few more seconds of silence. "What time should I –"

"Oh, perfect. My guy just walked in. You've got twenty minutes, Debra. Hurry up, I really think this could be it!"

Elway sounds absolutely giddy, no doubt already mulling over what he's going to buy with the sizeable reward he'll receive in exchange for one of the most wanted women in America. He hangs up before Deb can squeeze in another word to bring him down from his high.

"Awesome. Fucking awesome." She mumbles to herself.

Deb lingers in the hall for a while, taking her time on the walk back to Dexter's room as she thinks on what just happened. She doesn't know why she's even bothering to let this get to her – Hannah McKay is _dead_. She should know, she fucking killed her. Still, this definitely wouldn't be the first time a ghost from her past came back for another round.

But the thought of Dexter actually setting Hannah free again is one that she can't afford to have. Even if the woman managed to miraculously survive a headshot from a trained cop, would Dexter really have betrayed Deb in that way? It wouldn't be the first time he let Hannah slip away.

No. Hannah McKay is dead. She watched the life drain from her eyes. It was real. Elway just has his head shoved so far up his wallet that he can't accept the fact that he's wrong about this.

"I must be crazier than I fucking thought." Deb mutters, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself as she prepares to face her brother and nephew again.

"Hey, look who's back." Dexter greets her once she pokes her head back in the room. "We're watching _The Young and The Restless_, and it isn't half bad."

"Unbelievable. That shit is still on?" Deb chuckles, moving to take a seat beside her boys. "I remember mom used to watch it religiously when we were kids."

"Yeah, this one guy has a twin, except I don't think they're actually related…" Dexter chuckles. "It's nice to know that there's someone with a crazier life than us, even if they are fictional. Speaking of crazy, what did Elway want?"

"Oh, it was nothing really. He just needs help tracking down a potential mark and he wants me to go and meet him at his office now. I think I'm going to stay here with you guys though. Like I said before, it's nothing important."

"Deb, _go_. We'll be fine here for a little while."

"I don't know if I believe that. Who is supposed to watch Harrison while I'm gone?"

"Hey! I think I've done a pretty good job of that these past few years, thank you very much." Dexter says, clutching his chest as if offended. "I can hold my own."

"Hmm, that's debatable." Deb laughs, clearly in a teasing mood. "I'm kidding. Of course you've done a good job. I really mean that, you know."

Their eyes meet and her brother actually looks grateful for her words; surprised, even. But truthfully, he has no reason to feel that way. The Morgans have made their fair share of mistakes over the years, but Dexter becoming a father was not one of them. He loves his son more than anyone, and it shows. Harrison couldn't have asked for a better dad. Obviously things would've been much better with Rita still around, but so far, Dex has managed to raise a son that his former wife would certainly be proud of.

"What are you waiting for?" Dexter asks, immediately tearing her away from her thoughts. "I don't want to be held responsible when Elway wises up and finally decides to fire your ass."

"Okay, _okay_, I'll be back in half an hour. Forty minutes, tops. Try not to miss me too much."

"I'll try, but I'm not making any promises." Dexter answers, extending a hand to her.

She ignores his offering, instead leaning down for a hug. Deb covers his body with hers and he wraps his arms tightly around her. Harrison, feeling left out, struggles to wrap his short arms around the both of them.

The three of them stay like that for a while, no one quite brave enough to be the first person to pull away from their embrace. Finally Deb is the one to end it, offering them both a wave goodbye on her way out of the door.

Deb arrives at Elway's office in record time, unceremoniously letting herself into her boss's office and plopping down on the chair directly across from his desk. Annoyingly enough, the man is nowhere in sight. Did he go off in search of the elusive blonde without her?

"Deb, there you are." He declares, bursting into the room right on cue. There's a man with him that Deb doesn't recognize, and she assumes that it's the 'genius' who thinks that he randomly stumbled across Hannah McKay in a particularly fabulous stroke of luck.

"Debra Morgan?" He asks. "So, we finally meet. I've heard a lot about you."

"Yeah? Not _too _much, I hope." She sociably replies. "Okay, look, as much as I'd love to stand around and chat, I really can't right now. My brother is in the hospital and I really need to get back there. What's all this about Hannah McKay?"

"Dexter is in the hospital?" Elway questions, still as nosey as ever. "What happened to him? Nothing too serious, I hope."

"I don't want to fucking talk about it!" Deb snaps. "Sorry, fuck, I didn't mean to yell at you. But long story short, it _is_ serious, so I would appreciate it if we could stop dragging our dicks here and just get straight to the point. Hannah McKay."

"I like her." Elway's comrade chimes in, taking the time to look Deb up and down in the creepiest way possible. She takes a few steps away from him and closer to Jake, already thoroughly pissed off. "Anyway, I've got the photos right here for you, boss."

He presents a yellow manila envelope to the two of them, taking his time to open it and remove the contents for everyone to see.

"Jeez, have you ever heard of a digital camera? Or a fucking cell phone? I mean no offense but…why waste time getting pictures developed?" Deb wonders.

"I did use digital…." The man replies, dumbfounded. "I just had to print the pictures out first, is all."

"Fine, forget I even said anything. Let's just see what you've got."

The man takes three photos out of the envelope and spreads them out across Elway's desk. He takes a few steps back to stand confidently behind Deb and her boss, no doubt anxiously awaiting the praise he thinks he should be showered with for a job well done.

Though Elway can barely contain his excitement, Deb takes her time studying each of the photos. The first picture is of a woman with her back turned to the camera. It's blurry, but still clear enough to make out her approximate height and weight. So far, so good. Her glossy blonde hair cascades slightly past her shoulders, and though Deb knows that the woman in question can't possibly be Hannah McKay, she can't deny that she's a damn good look-a-like.

The second photo is of somewhat better quality, but it still leaves a lot to the imagination. It's easy to see how this guy could've thought that he hit the lottery with this one, but unlike Deb, he didn't have the pleasure of spending significant amounts of time with that poisonous bitch. In this picture, the woman is slightly facing the camera, and though it's still pretty blurry, it's obvious to Deb and anyone who isn't concerned with seeing what they want to see that this woman's nose is completely different than Hannah's. The nostrils are much too wide and the bridge is much too crooked.

The last photo is the most damning for Elway and his lackey. The woman is turned completely towards the camera, and most of her features can be made out clearly now. The lips are too big to be Hannah's, and she looks shapelier than one would've originally assumed she was from behind. It should be obvious to everyone in the room by now that the woman in the pictures is not who they thought she was.

"Really?" Deb snorts. "_This _is what you dragged me down here for? Some random blonde woman trying to enjoy her fucking vacation?"

"What are you talking about, Debra? This woman is a dead ringer for McKay!" Elway insists. His voice is self-assured but the look in his eyes tells her that in reality he's anything but. He knows just as well as she does that his cash cow has just left the pasture.

"I'm sorry, but anybody with a working pair of eyes will tell you that the woman in those photos is most definitely _not_ Hannah McKay. I think it may be time to kiss this one goodbye. I'm sorry, it sucks, I know. I want her behind bars just as much as you do, but right now it's just not gonna happen."

"No, absolutely not. I won't accept that." He says, shaking his head in disbelief. "Jerome, why don't you take Deb down to the hotel where you saw McKay with your working pair of eyes? I'll be following right behind you. There's no way she can escape when it's three against one. She may be a murderer, but a gun beats poison every time in my book."

"Jake, this is ridiculous!" Deb says. A laugh falls from her lips, and though she didn't mean it in an insulting way, that is exactly how it must sound to the men standing before her. "Why the fuck would you waste time and valuable resources chasing down a woman who clearly isn't the one you're after? You'll just end up running back home with your tails between your legs and nothing to show for it. I don't know about you, but I'm not in the business of hunting ghosts."

"Alright Deb, you know what? That's enough fucking disrespect for one day. I am your _boss_, and I am telling you to get your ass down to Coconut Grove and apprehend the suspect. That wasn't a request!" Elway barks at her, trying (and failing) to scare her into falling in line.

"Fuck you. I'm not going anywhere except for Jackson Memorial. My brother needs me. Clearly, you don't." She replies. "Call me when you have an actual job for me to do."

"Yeah…well, you can forget about that now." He says, his jaw clenched in anger. "I have had it up to _here_ with your bullshit. I gave you a job when you were a complete mess, knowing full well that no one else would ever be willing to hire you in that condition. I stood by you for months, through all of the constant disappearing acts, the lateness, the lack of professionalism…hell, even when I found out about your nasty little habit of fucking your marks –"

"So _I'm_ the one that lacks professionalism, but you, the guy who is supposed to be running this place, think that it's completely appropriate to call me a whore in front of one of your employees?" Deb interrupts. "Fuck you, I don't have to put up with any of this shit."

"Shut up and let me finish." He says, latching onto her arm when she tries to turn away. "Despite everything, like an idiot I still stood by you, because you managed to get the job done. But lately all you've done is dodge responsibility, and I'm not going to continue to let you take advantage of me like this. I've given you enough chances."

"Let's not pretend that you're so innocent in all of this." Deb retorts, her voice all venom. She snatches her arm out of his grasp and steps closer to him, undaunted. "Call me what you want but the fact of the matter is…this _whore_ never wanted anything to do with you. And I'm sure that has something to do with this little bitch fit."

"Take your shit and go. I want everything cleared out of your desk by tomorrow morning." Elway orders her. He's the first to back down, collecting his precious pictures of 'Hannah McKay' and taking off towards the door. Jerome follows closely behind him, stealing one last glance at Deb before leaving.

"Fucking asshole." Deb mumbles to herself.

She doesn't bother to stop by her office on the way out of Elway Investigations. He can keep all of that shit; it's nothing but staples and loose leaf anyway. Consider it a parting gift.

Even though she'd never admit it out loud at the risk of hurting her own fragile pride, Elway wasn't exactly wrong about everything he said. She _had_ been a shitty employee, and it's because of that that she doesn't much mind being fired. What hurts the most is the fact that she thought she actually had somebody. Not even a friend, exactly, but someone who didn't mind being around her. That is a rarity these days. She had that, once upon a time, but of course she found a way to fuck that up, just like everything else.

Maybe it truly _is_ just her and Dexter against the world now.

Deb drives back to the hospital as quickly as possible, actually managing to arrive within the forty minute time limit she'd set for herself before she left. Dexter's entire face lights up as if he's surprised to see her back so soon, but his cheery expression quickly falters as soon as he takes note of the scowl etched into her features.

"Oh no, what happened?" He asks, his voice in a hushed whisper so he can avoid waking his son who has already fallen asleep in the chair beside him.

"Well…it turns out you aren't the one that has to be held responsible for me getting fired. I made sure to handle that one all by myself."

Dexter sighs, but he doesn't look all that shocked by this recent development. "Jesus Deb, how did you manage that? I thought Elway liked you?"

She shrugs. "Yeah…I thought so, too. But he was on a power trip or something. Whatever, it doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters. What are you going to do, just not have a job? I love you, but I don't know if I want you to have to give up your beach house and move back in with me. We almost didn't survive the last time." He chuckles. "Do you want me to talk to him, help convince him to change his mind?"

"And say what?" Deb snorts. "You better hire my sister back, or else!"

"I mean…there are other methods that work just as well."

"Not fucking funny, Dexter."

"Sorry, I know." He cringes. "Okay, so no scare tactics with Elway, I promise. It's fine, you'll find something new eventually. But in the meantime, we'll get through this together, same as always."

"Damn right." Deb nods. "Now scoot over."

He shifts as much as possible, leaving her just enough space so she can sit down on the bed and face him. He wraps an arm around her waist and brings her in closer, and in one languid motion she leans down to capture his lips with hers. His hand then cups the back of her head, migrating across her face until it finally comes to rest against her cheek. As his thumb tenderly rubs along her smooth skin they deepen the kiss, losing themselves in each other.

Deb's eyes flutter open and the bright beaming lights bring her back to her senses. She reluctantly pulls away, leaving her and Dexter panting as the two of them desperately try to catch their breath.

Dexter moans and it takes all the strength Deb has left in her to refrain from kissing him again.

"Harrison is literally right there…" She mumbles. He ignores her, reaching out his arm so he can grab her by the back of the neck and bring her back into his personal space. "Anyone could walk in…"

He presses one quick kiss to her lips and another to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a few moments before grudgingly pulling away.

"Hey, Deb?" Dexter asks with a smile on his face. It's a small smile at first, but it blooms into something more. He looks at her like she's the world, and that deep, aching love still manages to awaken something deep within her.

"Yeah, Dex? What is it?"

"I think I've got an idea…."

* * *

The time spent in the hospital crawls by in a blur of physical therapy and cheesy daytime soaps. On the eve of month two, Dexter insists that he's made a complete recovery and all but begs the doctor to let him go home. It's obvious to Debra that Dexter has been growing more restless with the passing of each day, caged in like an animal and confined to his bed for hours on end. Still, no matter how much she may want the chance to really hold him again, she has to be completely sure that he's completely on the mend before the idea of him leaving the hospital becomes a good one in her mind.

Deb hopes that the doctor will take her side on this, but instead he surprises her by agreeing with Dexter's assessment of his health. As she stands at her brother's side to watch him sign the countless release forms piled on the desk in front of him, Deb still can't help but wish that she could find some sort of loophole to keep him from checking himself out so soon.

"You sure you're feeling one hundred percent?" She asks, making sure to speak loud enough so the doctor can hear her too. "I mean, that cough earlier…it wasn't sounding too hot, Dex. Another day here won't hurt, right? You know, just to be sure you're really okay."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you didn't want me home." Dexter replies, his mouth upturned in a playful smile.

"Jesus fuck, Dexter, of course I want you home." Debra says, snaking her unrestricted arm around his waist to bring him in closer to her. He leans into her touch and her breath quickens as a result. It should be strange, the fact that he can still have this effect on her after all of the years they've spent together; but to Deb, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. She can't believe she came so close to losing him. Never again.

"…but in case you fucking forgot," she continues, whispering in his ear. "...you've only just barely recovered, and there's no way I'm gonna let you die on me. So I'm worried about you. Sue me."

"No dying." He replies, pulling away so he can pick up a single sheet of paper and wave it in her face. "You're looking at a clean bill of health. The doctor wouldn't have given me the okay if he could find anything wrong. So could you do the both of us a favor and please stop worrying about me? There's been enough of that to go around lately."

"Alright, I'll dial it back. But only because –"

"Daddy, Aunt Deb, can we go now?" Harrison interrupts, tugging impatiently on the leg of Deb's jeans. "I don't like it here."

"Yeah, buddy, neither do I." Deb agrees, bending down to scoop up the toddler. She tries to balance him on one hip, ignoring the strain his weight puts on her. "I promise that us Morgans are never setting foot in a hospital ever again, okay?"

"I don't know about that, Deb. I think we have a few more hospital visits left to look forward to." Dexter chimes in. Deb shoots him a nasty glare and he defensively raises his hands out in front of him. "No, come on, I just meant that when Harrison gets married someday and goes on to have kids of his own, we're probably going to find ourselves right back here, fighting over who gets to hold the baby first. Who knows, maybe you'll actually beat him to the punch and pop out another Morgan or two."

"You're funny, brother." She snorts. "But yeah, sorry. Not likely."

The three of them fall into a companionable silence as Dexter finishes up with the last of his paperwork. Deb places Harrison back down on the floor when carrying him becomes too much work, and Dexter signals over to the doctor. He signs off on each required dotted line and voila, Dexter is a free man once again. The doctor shakes his patient's hand and wishes him luck before disappearing further down the hall.

They set off for the parking garage with Deb holding one of her nephew's hands and Dexter claiming the other. Harrison asks about Dexter's scar again, and he proceeds to go into uncomfortable detail about the formation of scar tissue and other medical shit, successfully buying Harrison's silence if only for a moment.

"So, you got any plans for your first official day of freedom?" Deb asks once she finally gets Harrison settled in his car seat.

"What do you think you're doing, Deb? Get in the passenger's seat, there's no way I'm letting you drive."

"I've been driving up here to see you every day for almost two months now, so don't even start with that shit."

"You've been driving_ yourself_ all this time? With only one working arm? And with my son in the backseat? Really? I thought you'd been catching a cab!"

"Yes, really. And would you look at that, both of us are still alive and in one piece! It's a goddamn fucking miracle."

"That's good to hear…but I'm still not going to let you drive."

"You don't have to _let_ me do anything. I don't remember asking for your permission. Besides bro, you're the one with the heart murmur. Should you really be lecturing me about public safety? I mean, you're practically a ticking time bomb." She teases, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You heard what the doctor said, Deb. The heart murmur is nothing serious. I just have to take it easy for a bit but driving is not out of the question. So…keys."

Dexter holds his palm out expectantly towards her and she rolls her eyes. "Get out of my way, Dex. As much as I just _love_ arguing with you, Harrison is gonna be late for school if we keep this shit up."

Dexter ignores her words, brushing past her on his way over to the driver's side door. But his extended hospital stay has weakened him, which as a result, leaves Deb with the upper hand. She is able to easily intercept him halfway there. Placing her palm flat against his chest and gently pushing, she starts to walk him further backwards until his back connects with the concrete wall a few feet away, just out of Harrison's line of sight.

"I don't think you want to try me on this one, Dexter. I have a way of getting what I want from you." She whispers, her lips brushing temptingly against his already inflamed earlobe.

She can feel him shiver involuntarily due to their contact and decides to take advantage of that flaw, leaving a trail of kisses from his neck down to his collarbone. As soon as she pulls away from him he quickly recovers, spinning them around so that she's the one who's now pinned against the wall. He then starts to grind up against her; his motions slow but still precise enough to ignite the flame low in her belly.

"Hey, that isn't fair." Deb replies, reaching down to ghost her fingers along his crotch. She pulls away after a few feather light touches, just enough to give him a little incentive to finally do as she says.

"Deb…" He groans. "Now _that_ wasn't fair."

"I know." She says, flashing a smug grin as she slips away from him to make her way back to her car.

Deb slides into the driver's seat, checking her mirrors before calling out to Dexter; still shell shocked and standing by the wall. "Come on, I can't tell you how tired I am of this place."

He swallows his pride and gets settled in the passenger's seat. On the entire drive to Harrison's school, his hand is glued to her thigh, occasionally drifting a little too far north.

Harrison is all too eager to get back to school after missing quite a few days to visit his dad in the hospital. After they both say their goodbyes to the little guy, Deb is hesitant to pull out of the parking lot. Pulling out of the lot means starting the rest of her day, and the more she thinks about it, the more today seems like an awful fucking idea.

"I'm scared, Dexter." She says, latching onto his hand.

"Why? There's nothing to be scared of. You're making the right decision here."

Her eyes fall down to her lap, staring at their joined hands as if it's the most interesting thing she's seen in her entire life. "I can't believe I actually let you talk me into going back. What if I can't do it? What happens if I can't face them?"

"Miami Metro is where you belong, Deb. You were always meant to be a cop. It's in your blood."

"I don't know how you can still manage to say that with a straight face…" Deb sighs. "After everything I've done? What makes you think I even deserve to be there?"

"Deb, you are the best person either of us knows. You deserve everything you could possibly want, and no matter how much you may try to deny it, I know how much you want this. I've been thinking a lot these past few months, remembering how things used to be…and no matter how hard I try, I can't recall a time where you were happier than when you finally made detective." Dexter explains, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "If you're not going to do it for yourself, then at least do it for me. Call me selfish, but all I want is for you to be happy again. No more pain from now on, Debra. I promise."

"When are you going to learn to stop making promises you can't keep?" Deb smiles weakly, a single tear dripping down her cheek. "I want to believe you, but we've been here before."

"Okay…so it isn't exactly a promise, then." He admits, leaning closer to wipe away the wetness that stains her cheek. "But it's something. I wasn't lying to you before, Deb. I want to try to stop, not just for you, but for me this time, too. For us. So please, just give me a chance."

"Of course I'll give you a chance, idiot. I've given you so many already, what's one more?" Deb says, laughing as she wipes the final remnants of tears from her eyes. "Is it stupid that I'm still nervous, though? About going back, I mean. How is it that I know practically everyone there but somehow I still feel like a foreign exchange student?"

"Well the good thing is, you won't have to face it alone."

"What do you – wait, Dexter, _no_! You can't seriously be considering going back to work so soon. You literally just got out of the fucking hospital!"

"I'm _fine_, Deb. How many times do I have to tell you that before you actually believe me?"

"I don't know. We'll see."

"Come on, Debra. I've already checked in with Batista and he's excited to have the both of us back on the team. You don't want to let down _Batista_, do you?"

"Fine, you win. You're lucky that I'd be a complete and utter wreck without you there to wade through this massive pile of shit with me. To be honest though, I still have half a mind to drive you back to your apartment and handcuff you to your bed…in the most nonsexual way possible, of course." She winks.

"Oh, yeah, of course." Dexter replies, erupting into a fit of giggles.

His laughter is so infectious that Deb finds herself cracking up right along with him, and goddammit, even though Dexter may have been right when he said that she has never again been as happy as when she finally accomplished her childhood dream, he somehow failed to realize that _this_, these moments with him, are the glue that has been holding her together all of these years. Making detective was amazing, but if he hadn't been there to share it with her, all it would've amounted to was an empty sort of happiness. Even despite all that came after. It scares her sometimes, just how much she loves this man. But as long as she has him, she can never truly be unhappy.

"So what do you say, detective?" Dexter asks after he finally regains his composure. "You ready for the rest of your life?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

* * *

She doesn't know why she expected anything fancy. Maybe it's because she knows these people and has been putting up with their constant begging for her to come back for the better part of a year now. Thankfully though, there are no party streamers, or banners, or fucking piñatas to celebrate the highly anticipated return of the Morgan siblings. Angel does have a cake with him, however, and Deb manages to eat two whole slices all on her own.

"I can't tell you how great it is to have the two of you here with us again." Angel says, wrapping both Deb and Dex into a warm hug. "The dream team is finally back together."

"Thanks for taking me back, Angel." Deb replies. "Because honestly, you really didn't have to do that. The way I left was kind of sudden, and that wasn't fair to anyone, much less you."

"Don't thank me, Deb. You know there's always a place here for you." He insists. "Maria's death was hard on everyone, so trust me; I understand why you needed a change of scenery for a little while. What matters now is that you're back."

"Yeah, well, it turns out the grass isn't really greener on the other side." She says. "It's brown, and rotten, and definitely needs to be watered. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here, Angel. I really mean that. Sure, we let our lawn get kind of overgrown sometimes, but it's nothing we can't fix."

"Are we still going with the whole shitty grass thing, or were you being serious?" Angel wonders, laughter erupting from the base of his throat.

"I was trying to be deep, dumbass."

"Oh…You might wanna work on that."

Deb glares at him, pretending to be angry as she swats her friend playfully on the shoulder. "Looks like you're running a pretty tight ship around here, boss. I think this is the most productive I've ever seen some of these guys."

"Yeah…I guess I'm doing alright so far." Angel acknowledges, lifting his arm to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. He's always made a habit out of being way too modest. "And please don't call me boss."

"Fine, but only if you stop downplaying yourself. You aren't doing just alright. You're doing great. Lieutenant looks good on you, Angel. This job should've gone to you in the first place. I wasn't ready to step up, and it showed."

"Oh no, not this again. Deb, stop being so hard on yourself. I thought this was supposed to be a party? Please, promise me you'll find a way to enjoy yourself."

"Okay, I'll try."

Angel presses a quick kiss to her temple before disappearing into the crowd to mingle with a few of his coworkers, leaving Deb and Dexter alone together. He starts toward his lab, no doubt sick of all the festivities, and she follows, because she has nothing else to do. Since it's her first day back she's been pushed off to desk duty, and truth be told, she doesn't mind it. She doesn't think that she could handle going back out there so soon.

Closing the door behind them, Dexter pulls the blinds closed, giving them some much needed privacy.

"So how are you doing so far?" He asks. "Handling everything well?"

"Surprisingly…yeah, I think I am, actually." Deb answers, sitting down on top of Dexter's desk. He shakes his head, tells her to find somewhere else to rest her ass. She settles on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in closer. "Thank you."

His lips find hers in one fluid motion and she breathes him in, rocking her hips against his as they desperately deepen the kiss. It feels too damn good to hold him like this again after going without for so long, but the thought that maybe this isn't the best time or place to be doing this immediately crosses her mind. Knowing that she still doesn't pull away, instead she chooses to lick across his bottom lip with her tongue, begging him to grant her access to the inside of his mouth. He gives in to her, allowing one of his hands to slip underneath her shirt so he can press his palm flat against the warmth of her back. His wicked hand stops just short of the clasp that holds her bra together and she bucks up against him faster now, her rhythm furious as she feels him pressing himself up against her clothed core.

"Fuck, Dex…" Deb moans between kisses. "Hold on…"

She turns away for just a second so she can be sure that no one is coming, and her heart drops low in her chest when she sees a shadow approaching the door, closed but still unlocked. The last thing she needs is for one of her co-workers to catch her in a compromising position with her big brother.

Regrettably Deb climbs out of Dexter's lap, using her palms to smooth out her blouse so the approaching visitor won't have any reason to be suspicious. She assumes that it's Angel, or even worse, Masuka, coming to find out why they decided to ditch their own welcome back party. But when door swings open, in walks Joey Quinn, much to Deb's surprise. He clutches something small and square in one hand, and though she can't see it completely, she does recognize the box.

"Hey Deb, figured I'd catch you in here." He starts. By the way he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, Deb can tell that he's nervous. She hopes to God that he isn't about to do what she thinks he is. "I didn't get to welcome you back earlier…so…you know…welcome back."

"Joey…w-what the fuck do you think you're doing with that?" Deb stutters, taking a few steps back until she feels Dexter's firm chest pressing against her. He reaches around to possessively clutch her by the waist, holding her there as if he's afraid of her walking away, over to the other man.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I can't believe you thought…_no_." He says, laughing as if she's somehow the stupid one in this situation for daring to assume the obvious. "That's not what I'm here for, Deb. I'm not about to propose to you again. Believe me, I learned my lesson the first time you turned me down."

"Oh thank God." She exhales in a single breath, her posture more relaxed now.

An awkward silence lingers among the three of them, and it lasts entirely too long for Deb's liking. Is there a polite way to kick your ex-boyfriend out of your foster brother's lab so you can get back to making out with him?

"Wait…you weren't planning on proposing to _me_, were you?" Dexter interjects. "Because I hate to say it, but my answer would have to be a reluctant 'no'".

His joke remarkably serves to lighten the mood in the cramped space.

"You're funny, Dexter." Quinn replies, taking a seat on top of her brother's desk. "Actually, I'm here because I'm planning on proposing to Jamie tonight and I'm kind of scared out of my fucking mind to float the idea by Angel. Hell, I'm scared of this entire thing, period. Please tell me I'm not making a massive fucking mistake. You guys have known Jamie longer than I have. I trust your opinion so just give it to me straight…is she going to laugh me out the door as soon as I get down on one knee?"

"I don't see why you're scared, Joey; I think that it's a great idea. I've seen firsthand how happy she makes you." Deb says. "It's nice to see you smiling again."

She can feel the kiss he'd forced on her a little over two months ago hanging in the balance. It was a mistake, something that never should've happened…so why does it feel like Quinn still hasn't gotten over it? Though she hopes that she looks calm cool and collected, fearful of giving her jilted ex the wrong idea, on the inside she's screaming, silently begging him to just let it go. She wonders if they'd be having a different conversation if Dexter weren't here to witness it. The truth is that she loves Joey, just not in the way that she thinks he wants her to. She wishes she could make him happy, but it's not like she can magically change how she feels.

"I just want you to be sure that this is the right choice, not just for you, but for her, too." Deb continues. "Don't drag Jamie along just because you're afraid of being alone, or because you can't have what you really want. I made that mistake with you and I'm still sorry for it. But you have to learn from my mistakes. Jamie is a great girl, and she doesn't deserve to be anyone's second choice. If this is what you really want, you have to go for it. But only if you're sure."

Dexter looks confused as he stares at the former lovers, knowing that something has clearly been left unsaid; but Deb knows that he understands what she's saying and why she's saying it.

Quinn nods to himself, knitting his brows together as if deep in thought. His lips curl into a warm smile, the kind someone gets when recalling a fond memory. He clutches the ring box a little tighter now, looking up to meet Deb's gaze once again.

"I love her." He mumbles, more to himself than the other two occupants in the room. "Shit, I really fucking love her. Just now, I tried to imagine my life without her in it…and all I saw was darkness. It's like she's this light, and just being in her orbit makes me feel like maybe I'm not so bad after all."

"I know the feeling." Dexter agrees. His hazel eyes find Deb's and they exchange a loaded look that is so typically _them_, and oh God, there goes that fire again, burning bright in her belly.

If Quinn finds it strange he doesn't say as much. "I'm thinking Jamie might be my Rita. Is this how she made you feel, Dexter?"

"That's exactly how she made me feel, actually. And right now, I feel like Jamie couldn't ask for a better boyfriend." Dexter says. Deb can tell that he doesn't believe a single word that comes out of his own mouth, but he almost seems relieved at the news of Quinn's planned proposal. He cares a lot about Jamie, and though the same can't be said of how he feels about Quinn, he'd rather the man go after his nanny than his…Deb.

"Actually, I guess boyfriend isn't the right term. Should I say fiancé now?" Dexter continues. "Welcome to the family, Joseph." He hesitates but eventually extends a hand to the smaller man, and Deb's mouth nearly hits to the floor when he takes it, giving it a firm shake. She hasn't seen these two _really_ get along since…well…never.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here man." Joey chuckles. "I have to ask her first, and then she's gotta say yes. Who knows how that's all gonna go down…"

"I'm proud of you, Joey." Deb declares, closing the distance between them so she can give the anxious man a hug. "Of course she'll say yes, who would let such a great guy get away?"

"You're hilarious, Deb." He deadpans, pulling away from their embrace. "Well, I guess it's time to go grovel at Batista's feet. Maybe I should bring my gun, I don't know if I'm quite ready to face off with two hundred pounds of angry Cuban."

"Joey!"

"Fine, he isn't that fucking bad. But if you hear screaming coming from the Lieutenant's office…please send help."

"Deal. Now, go!" She uses her good arm to gently push him towards the door. He takes off, armed with a newfound sense of confidence and purpose.

Once he's out of her line of sight, Deb leans up against the door, exhaling a massive sigh of relief. "Man… I really thought that he was about to go there for a second, Dex. Jesus Christ, that was terrifying. I definitely was _not_ prepared to break Quinn's heart for a second time."

"Way to jump to conclusions, Deb. Maybe you should stop thinking so highly of yourself." Dexter replies, his tone lacking any type of seriousness.

"Fuck you, loser. You fell for it too." She says. Dexter agrees, nodding in response. "I just hope he isn't dumb enough to cheap out on Jamie and recycle the ring he used when he proposed to me…who am I kidding, of course he is."

"Hey, it's none of our business, right?" Dexter asks, inching closer to her.

Deb shifts so she no longer rests against the door and Dexter then grabs her by her shoulders. His lips find hers as their feet start to shuffle; and he guides her backwards until she's trapped in a small corner on the other side of the room. He breaks their kiss without warning, redirecting his lips to her neck, an area he seems to be particularly drawn to whenever they manage to find some alone time.

They don't hear the turning of the knob until it's too late. In barges Masuka wearing a terribly goofy grin on his face as he turns his head to find Deb and Dexter all over each other in the near corner.

Deb quickly separates from her brother, pushing harshly against his bicep until he wakes up and finally backs off, leaving a proper, familial amount of space between the two them. But it's not like it matters now. The damage has already been done, judging by the way Vince's eyes are currently amplified to roughly three times their natural size. She wonders if it's possible for them to burst right out of their sockets as he continues to stare, his emblematic snicker so loud that it echoes throughout the lab.

"Vince…" Dexter says, starting towards the man with both hands raised, his palms up.

"Dude!" Masuka exclaims, practically vibrating with sheer excitement at this point. "_Dude_, you were just making out with your _sister_. And I _saw it_! Tell me, is this what dreams are made of?"

"Ew, gross." Deb says, cringing as she forces herself to look him in the eye. She tries her best to appear disgusted but of course it's to no avail. The dirty little perv has probably been waiting for the moment that Debra and Dexter would act on their feelings for each other long before either of them even realized that there were feelings to act on. "I don't want to know what goes down in any of your fucking wet dreams, Vince; but I swear to God, you better not even fucking think about spreading any disgusting rumors about me and my brother. Whatever you think you just saw happen, you're wrong."

"Why deny it, Deb? You're only lying to yourself. I just got a new pair of specs this week; we're talking superhuman vision here, baby. And what I just saw was you and Dexter going at it like a couple of horny college kids. I bet if I hadn't walked in when I did, you guys would be in the middle of making sweet, naked love right here on this very floor. Damn, if only I had better timing. O, the Gods, why must they be so cruel? They giveth, and they taketh away."

"You're such a pain in my fucking ass, Masuka!" Deb screams, advancing on him with rapid speed. She grabs onto his shirt collar with her good hand and yanks, pulling him so close that he can probably feel her literally breathing down his neck.

He simply chuckles and raises his eyebrow at her suggestively. "Threesome? Count me in."

"Fuck!" She shouts, releasing him so roughly that he actually stumbles back a few paces.

"There's no use getting all worked up about it now, Deb." Dexter says. There's a smile on his face that definitely shouldn't be there, and Deb is just about ready to blow up at him next until he inches closer to Vince, mirroring his cocky stance. "Even if Vince tries to tell anyone what he thinks he saw; which is something he definitely won't be doing… " Dexter steps even closer to him, driving his point home by pressing his index finger threateningly against the man's chest. "…he's been saying this type of shit for years to anyone who'll listen. It isn't like people are going to start believing it now."

That really knocks Masuka for a loop. He stands in quiet consideration for a moment, pondering the weight of Dexter's words. "Well, he's not wrong."

Deb sighs as something resembling relief begins to wash over, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to crouch underneath Dexter's desk and hide; nor does it stop the red heat of humiliation from creeping insidiously along the back of her neck.

_Of course_ Masuka would be the one to walk in on them. She doesn't know how she'll ever be able to live this one down. His constant use of sexual innuendo at any given moment was an annoying habit at most – maybe it was even funny, on the rare occasion – but she has a feeling that things are about to get a whole lot worse.

"But come on Dexterous, there's no need for all of this hostility. We're all friends here. You know I'd never think to betray you guys, especially after you've given me such a beautiful gift. Whatever goes on between two consenting adults is their business. Well, it's also the business of whoever may walk in and see what goes on behind unlocked doors. I guess that's sort of an unspoken rule. Anyway, what I'm saying is, your secret's safe with me, Morgans."

Deb rolls her eyes. "Gee thanks. Now I can finally sleep at night."

"Curled up next to Dexter, I hope." Masuka replies, never one to take a hint and actually quit while he's ahead. "Which one of you is the big spoon? See, most people would probably assume that it's Dexter, just because he's the biggest…but my money's on you, Deb. You're the type that likes to take control…"

"Masuka…shut the fuck up." Dexter commands him, clearly no longer in the mood to play around.

"You got it. Consider these lips sealed."

Deb expects him to turn around and leave but instead he continues to stand there and stare at them like a kid in need of directions to the short bus. "Uh…Vince. Is there a reason you're still here?"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot why I came here in the first place. There's a crime scene a few blocks from here, and there's blood, lots of it, apparently. So you better bring your kit, Dexter."

"I'll be right behind you." Dexter answers, rubbing at his temples as if he's trying to soothe a headache.

Once the door closes behind him Deb spins around to face Dexter, swiftly punching him in the shoulder. He looks surprised and so she punches him again, stomping down hard on his foot just in case he didn't get the message.

"Ow, Deb, stop it. I just got out of the hospital, remember?" He says, rubbing the spot on his arm where she decided to take out her frustrations. "And that definitely was _not_ my fault."

"It totally fucking _was_. Learn how to lock your fucking door next time, Dex. It's not that hard."

He simply shrugs, turning away from her so he can get his kit together.

"I'm surprised you're not freaking out about this too." Deb adds.

"Why? There are worse things." Dexter replies, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he prepares to head out. "If anything, we got lucky. If it had been anyone but Masuka, then maybe I would be in meltdown mode right now, but it wasn't, so there's nothing to worry about."

"I know…but fuck, Dexter, I've got enough of a reputation as it is. I don't really want anyone to know that I regularly do…_things _with you."

"Deb…" Dexter starts, placing one hand on her shoulder to steady her. His eyes lock on hers and suddenly he's all she sees, his gaze slowly but surely guiding her safely back to the shore. "_Relax_."

He presses his forehead to hers, resting there for a moment before pulling away and leaving her with an ardent kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you at Vogel's." He says, waving his goodbye on his way out the door.

The rest of the day crawls by as Deb sits at her desk doing busywork. Angel eventually swings by and brings her up to speed on the cases the department has been fixated on as of late, with one in particular standing out from the rest.

Deb begins to flip through the crime scene photos that depict the brutal murder of a woman and her two young children as Angel explains to her that the case has been haunting him for a little over a week now. The fact that the woman was pregnant at the time of death and pretty far along at that makes the scene that much more horrific, and she can hear Angel starting to choke up beside her when he shares that the mother's body was found in the nursery she'd been putting together for the kid.

"That's fucking terrible." Deb sighs, putting the photos down in disgust. She's never been the type to let bloody crime scene photos faze her – she could never afford to be, given the line of work she chose – but this is particularly disturbing. She wants to blame it on being away from the job for so long, but it's more likely that one of the victims being so close in age to her own nephew has something to do with it. "Any suspects?"

"Yeah, just one. Dresden Moore. He's the husband, of course." Angel says, presenting another photo to her. It's a mugshot of a reasonably attractive young man with a glint in his eye and a shit eating grin on his face, and one look at the picture already has Deb convinced that he's guilty. "The mugshot's from a few years back. He was booked on a domestic, but unfortunately Pam, the wife, dropped the charges."

"Well why the fuck isn't he being prepped for a new mugshot? Slap some cuffs on this joker, he's as guilty as OJ."

"He's already lawyered up." The lieutenant replies. "And we don't really have anything in terms of evidence."

"So we'll find something." Deb insists. "The wife was stabbed fifteen fucking times, Angel, and the wounds run deep. Anybody can see that this was personal. It's a textbook crime of passion. And the kids died of suffocation, which means that it was quick, and relatively painless. I'm guessing it was their dad's idea of a good death. The fucking psycho probably used their pillows to do it. We just have to find some evidence and make it stick."

"We've already searched the home top to bottom, and nothing." His sighs, holding his head in his hands.

"So what, you're just gonna let this fucker walk!?"

"Of course not, but you know how this works, Deb. We can't search his car or any other properties he may own without the proper warrants, and two judges have already turned me down. His alibi actually checks out, so there's not much we can do at this point but wait."

"Wait for what?"

"For him to slip up, give us an opportunity to finally nail his ass to the wall."

"For him to do it again, you mean." Deb states.

Her mind starts to drift and it feels like she's traveling back in time. She's transported back to the moment where she first learned that her brother hunted killers in his spare time, back to when that secret went off like an atom bomb between them, the effects of the catastrophic detonation so massive that they threatened to swallow her whole, eventually becaming her world. She remembers Dexter using her rightful concern for him against her, tricking her into meeting him at some random bar in the hopes of bringing her around to his way of thinking. She was so desperate to catch Speltzer way back then, she would've done just about anything, and Dexter knew that. He tried to take advantage of it. He'd been in the middle of his latest attempt to convince her to let him be free to do what he does, tugging on her heartstrings like he could somehow convert her into a champion of his unique brand of vigilantism.

"…_there is a legal system for that, and just because Speltzer got off, that doesn't mean it doesn't work."_

"_If it worked as well as you think it does, I wouldn't be so busy. Dad knew that. Dad taught me that."_

"_What is it about your personal law that is so much better than the one that the rest of us agree to live by?"_

"_Sometimes it is."_

"_How?"_

"_Speltzer would have to murder somebody again for you to arrest him. I can stop him before."_

Her brother's words ring in her ears, the implication of them stinging in her eyes as she clutches the crime scene photos in her trembling hand.

"You alright, Deb?" Angel interrupts, saving her from being eaten alive by her own traitorous thoughts. "You're shaking."

"I've been drinking too much coffee lately." She lies, forcing a smile to her face to appease the man. "I'll be alright."

"Perks of the job, right?" He chuckles, elbowing her playfully in the ribs. "Why don't you just take the rest of the day? You're supposed to be off in about an hour anyway, just head home and get some rest. I know it takes a while to get back in the swing of things."

"Thanks Angel, but trust me, I'm already back." Deb smirks at him, standing up and out of her chair. "I think I'll take you up on that offer, though. I've got therapy in a bit."

"You're still in therapy? Good for you. Tell Dr. Vogel I said hi, I haven't seen her since we closed the Brain Surgeon case."

"Yup. See you tomorrow, boss."

"Stop calling me that!" Angel calls out after her.

Deb heads straight home, hoping to catch a quick nap before it's time to come face to face with Vogel again for their first official therapy session after everything went down. But of course, she can't bring herself to shut her eyes for longer than five seconds before her thoughts return to the Moore family. Pam was butchered like an animal, and her killer deserves to fry on the electric chair for what he did to her and her kids.

She wants to smack herself for even considering it, even if it had only been for a second. She'll bring Moore down on her own. She won't give in to the darkness.

Deb pulls herself together and drives down to Vogel's. She notices that Dexter's car is already parked on the street, which means that he somehow managed to beat her here. She takes a deep breath before starting up the steps towards the house where she almost lost him two short months ago. It almost feels surreal to be back.

"Hello Debra, please come in. I've got tea on the stove, if you're interested." The doctor greets her.

Deb moves past her and steps inside the house, finding Dexter sitting down in his usual chair. "Hope you've got something a little stronger." She mutters, taking a seat next to her brother.

"I've got Pepsi." Dr. Vogel answers, sitting down directly across from the Morgans.

Deb can't help but smirk at the woman. "You know that's not what I meant. Whatever, let's just get this show on the road, yeah?"

"Excellent." Evelyn replies, crossing one leg over the other like a proper lady. "It's been entirely too long since we last spoke, and I'm sorry for that. I had to take some time away from my practice after what happened to Daniel. You understand. You two lived it as well, and you'll always bear the scars."

"Of course." Dexter nods. "It was hard on all of us, but I'd like to think we've moved past it now. Deb and I are in a really good place, actually."

Deb turns to her brother and snorts with laughter. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Dex. This was only our first day back at work and you see how that went."

"Would you like to talk about it?" The doctor asks, flipping open her notepad.

"When in therapy, right…" Deb sighs. "I don't know where to start. With my ex-boyfriend slash almost fiancé asking me for permission to propose to Dexter's nanny? Or maybe with my co-worker – who's a total fucking deviant, by the way – walking in on me and my brother making out in his lab? No, how about the fact that I was so fed up with a case today that I actually considered asking Dexter to help me take out the bastard?"

"What!?" Dexter snaps, sharply turning to face her.

"You're not the therapist here, Dex. I was talking to her."

"I thought you were against me killing. You know what happened the last time you asked me to do what I do."

"Of course I fucking hate it, Dexter! And of course I remember. Jesus, that's why I didn't fucking ask." She answers. "I never seriously considered it, okay? I was just…fed up. This guy, Dresden Moore…he killed his kids and his pregnant wife, and it looks like he's going to walk. I thought I was ready to be back but all of this death and destruction…it's hopeless, and I don't know how much more of it I can take."

"Deb…"

"Look, can we just drop this? Please? I'm the same as I've always been. Nothing's changed, Dexter, so don't you dare start worrying about me now."

"I always worry about you."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to…at least not when it comes to this. Moore's not going to walk, and you're not going to kill him, but he is going to pay for what he did to his family. I've just got to find something and make it stick, that's all. I'm a detective, I'll find a way. It's what I do."

Dexter reaches for her hand, warming it in between the two of his. She sees something in his eyes, and though there's no way to know for sure, she thinks it means that he's proud of her. She feels her cheeks reddening in spite of herself. No matter what their relationship has become now, he's still her big brother, and she's sure that he knows how much she's always yearned for his approval. It feels good to know that he no longer fears that she'll lose herself to the darkness. Come what may, she'll always strive to be that light.

"It's fascinating." Vogel says, earning a pair of matching glares from the Morgans. "The cycle. Sometimes I wonder if you two even need me at all. It seems like you always find a way to solve your problems on your own."

"Yeah, and then we create six new ones." Deb replies.

The woman chuckles, low and guttural. "That too. But please, don't take my previous statement as a desire to no longer continue with our sessions. I was wrong about you two, and I'm still very eager to learn more."

Deb looks shocked, her mouth widening in surprise. "Fuck me, a doctor who actually admits that she was wrong. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Hubris is not a good trait for anyone to have; especially not someone who claims to specialize in the human condition. What does it mean to be human, really? There are so many different variables that must come together to make us who we are, so how can any of us ever be sure if we fall under just one specific label? I was wrong about you Dexter, and I apologize. It wasn't wise of me to make such a rash rush to judgment when it came to you and what makes you so special. I failed your father but most importantly I failed you, and I can't apologize enough for that. You aren't a psychopath, Dexter. You're so much more than that, and I'm honored that we get to experience this learning opportunity together."

"So am I." Dexter answers, "I –"

His sentence is abruptly cut short by his phone's technical sounding ringtone and he reluctantly answers it, mumbling a quick "one second" before dismissing himself to take the call. Deb and Dr. Vogel sit in peaceful silence for a minute or two before Dexter returns to the living room, looking as if he's bracing himself to share some bad news.

"That was Jamie. She and Quinn are going out for dinner to celebrate their engagement, so she can't stay with Harrison tonight. Sorry to cut this session short. Deb, I told Jamie you'd be there in fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, of course. Jamie deserves a day off to celebrate." Deb answers. "Wait, why just me? Where are you going?"

"Uh, I'm actually going to head back to work for a bit. I need to finish up some blood reports from that crime scene today. I was meant to have them on Batista's desk hours ago."

Deb's heart falls to her feet. She can tell that he's lying but she doesn't say as much, choosing only to wish him good luck on his work and pat him on the shoulder before saying goodnight to Dr. Vogel and heading back out to her car.

She tries not to think about what Dexter is really going to do as she drives over to his place, even though it's crystal fucking clear to her. She gave him the man's fucking _name_ for Christ's sake, all he has to do is stop at the station and go through his records to track him down and do what he does. It's been months since his last kill, how could she be so stupid to think that he'd give it up that easily? Especially after the mini breakdown she had in front of him and Vogel. She's got no one to blame but herself if things go the way they inevitably will.

Playing with Harrison manages to ease some of the stress, but as the minutes tick by and quickly turn into an hour, she decides that she really needs a fucking drink.

She puts Harrison down for bed at 8:00, trying not to think about how Dexter has been gone for almost two hours. She thinks she's earned that drink now.

Deb raids Dexter's cabinets and finds a half-empty bottle of gin; a rarity, considering the fact that her brother has never been much of a drinker. She pours herself a generous amount and settles down in front of the TV, clutching onto her glass with one unsteady hand.

Ten minutes into a Syfy movie chock-full of terrible CGI, Dexter shows his face again. He holds one of his hands behind his back, his face unreadable as he takes a few hesitant steps toward her. She notices that he's wearing the infamous green Henley and then proceeds to down her glass in one shot, preparing for their first big fight since leaving the hospital. She sighs. Well, it was bound to happen eventually, and now's as good a time as any.

"I brought you something." Dexter declares, successfully catching her off guard. She expected him to apologize, or to pretend that nothing's happened. Why does he seem so excited?

Deb decides to play along. "Why? It's not my birthday, is it?"

"No. Now close your eyes, give me your hand, and hold still."

"I don't know, Dex. That's a lot of instructions right there."

"Deb!"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh, tough crowd."

She holds out her hand, not really knowing what she expects to feel. Whatever it is, it definitely isn't… "A necklace?"

"It belonged to the victim. Pam Moore."

"Why are you giving me this?" Deb asks. "Moore…did you kill him?"

"No." Dexter answers. She isn't sure if she believes him, but she decides to hear him out anyway. "But I found the necklace in his car, along with a few other things."

"By a few other things, you mean…"

"The murder weapon." He nods. "You said you needed something that'll stick, and I wanted to help. I guess I just got lucky. I did some digging, and it turns out that he's got himself a whole other family on the other side of town. So I called in an anonymous tip about my neighbor, Dresden Moore. I let them know that he's been acting very suspicious lately, and that I just saw him burying what looked to be a rather large knife. I explained to them that I feared for his girlfriend's life, because he's a violent guy. The girl on the phone even patched me through to Batista, and he had no clue it was me. I suspect that you'll be getting a call any minute now to help bring Moore in. I buried it behind the rose bush."

Deb stares at him for what feels like hours, her mouth hanging open in shock. She flings her arms around him, cast be damned, holding on to him like he's her only lifeline. She never wants to let go.

The tears fall from her eyes in a steady stream, trickling onto his neck as he pulls her in closer. "You did this for me?" She breathes against his skin.

"Mostly…" Dexter replies. "But I did it for me, too."

"I'm so proud of you." She says, pulling away so she can look into his eyes. What she finds staring back at her is the man she's known all her life, but there's something else, a flicker, a gleam, a promise of what lies ahead. And for once, Deb isn't so afraid of the future anymore.

* * *

**A/N: And there you have it. I know the idea of Dexter quitting is a controversial one among Dexter fans, so I wanted to leave it open ended. I know that Deb and Dex were never meant to have the definition of a happily ever after, but I couldn't help but leave them with some hope at the end. I think they deserve as much. **

**Until next time!**


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